Don't Let Go
by ChristianGateFan
Summary: When the boys are captured by the first 'friend' Gordon sends after Sam, one with a vendetta of her own, things go horribly wrong. Did Dean come back from the djinn's near-perfect world, for Sam, just to lose him now? Much Limp!Sam and Protective!Dean.
1. Chapter 1

Okay, so this is my first Supernatural fanfic, but I have a lot of experience writing other fanfiction, and other fiction in general. I have seen every episode of Supernatural now, so I'm caught up, even though I just started watching a couple of months ago. I hope you'll give me a chance and read this! Thanks!

Timing: This story takes place toward the end of season 2 just after "What is and What Should Never Be." It's definitely an H/C story, lol.

Summary: When Sam and Dean are captured by the first 'friend' Gordon sends after Sam, things go horribly wrong. Dean is faced with the possibility of losing his brother. Did he really come back from the djinn's near-perfect world, for Sam, just to lose him now?

"Don't Let Go"

Sam pulled the Impala's passenger side door closed behind him and dropped the plastic bag from the gas station into his brother's lap. "I come bearing gifts."

Dean picked up the bag to rifle through it. "As long as you didn't forget the pie." He snatched something and held up his mini plastic-wrapped trophy triumphantly. "Ah ha! Apple!"

"Uh huh. Get excited over fruit."

"We've been driving for almost twelve hours!"

"Which we do almost every day."

"Whatever. So why are we here again?" he asked, ripping off the plastic. "Something about your typical haunted house."

Sam shrugged and pulled out a packaged pie of his own to snack on. "That's what it looks like. The house is newer, and it's outside of town. It's only been abandoned for a few years, but it's already got a reputation in the area. It's rumored that whoever goes in doesn't come out, etc, etc—and that's about all we've got."

"What about deaths?"

"There _were_ none, until the three in the past couple of months. That's why we're here now, and we never came before."

Dean took the folder Sam offered him and flipped it open to glance at the pictures and reports on the victims. "Right. So…maybe there's a spirit that was dormant before, but somebody ticked it off and now it's ganking people. Any motive? Anybody die there before it was abandoned?"

"Nobody knows for sure. They say the woman who owned the place killed herself, but the body was never found. She just disappeared, two years ago."

"That recent, huh? Nice. Maybe if we find her she won't look as freaky as some of the other ghosts we've put down."

"Oh yeah, and that's the whole reason we do what we do—for the hot ghosts."

Dean ignored him and tossed the folder back onto his brother's lap. "Address?" Sam handed him a single sheet of paper, which he grabbed and held against the steering wheel. "Let's go!" He paused for a moment, glanced around as if looking for something.

"What?"

"We need Bon Jovi." With that, he dug out a tape to put in and. When the music was blaring loud enough to make the pedestrians on the corner cringe, Dean put the Impala in gear and pulled away from the mini mart perhaps a little more sharply than necessary.

Sam just rolled his eyes. "You're enthusiastic today."

"I just got out of It's a Wonderful Life world, man. Sure it was nice, but I'm telling you it was _boring_ in there. I'm ready to kill something nasty."

* * *

The house was well out of the way of the small Mississippi town, and despite the minimal grime build-up it looked like it had just been built. The two-story farmhouse design was sided in yellow, with green shutters and a white porch framed by dying flower bushes.

"Sure doesn't really _look_ haunted," Dean commented, as he parked behind some brush.

Sam pulled the EMF meter from the glove compartment. "I guess we'll find out."

With no one nearby, it was easier to pick the lock on the front door than to find another way in. Dean shoved the tools back in his pocket when he had finished and shouldered his sawed-off rock salt rifle. He went in first, gun ready, and Sam came in after him with the EMF meter. When nothing jumped out at them immediately, they both relaxed—a little. Dean still held the gun ready.

"Anything?"

Sam shook his head. "Not right here. We'll have to do a sweep."

Dean waved him forward with the barrel of the rifle. "Knock yourself out."

"Such an appropriate statement."

What? Wait…Sam hadn't said that. The voice was…feminine?

Dean spun, staring down the barrel of the rifle. Instead of having a ghost to shoot, he felt a sudden sharp pain in his neck and the world never _stopped_ spinning. The floor came up abruptly to meet him, and after a grunt and thump beside him he found himself staring blurrily at the blue plaid print of Sam's shirt.

"Sammy…"

He wasn't sure if the word even came out audibly, and then everything went black.

* * *

The world asserted itself slowly.

First was the awareness of consciousness, of discomfort. Soon the discomfort was more specific. He was sitting up somewhat, something tight around his wrists. His fingers brushed the smooth wood of the chair he was tied to.

Tied to a chair?

Sam's head jerked up immediately. He remembered Dean spinning and dropping, and remembered seeing the dart in his neck. Then he'd felt the sharp pain in his own neck, and…

"Dean?" he mumbled groggily. He tried to pry his eyes open, but for a moment it was no use.

"Hey…if it isn't sleeping beauty."

Sam smirked and finally managed to squint up at his brother, who happened to be tied to a chair a few feet away. The light sent a stab of pain back into his head and he grimaced.

"What happened?"

"We were ambushed; that's what happened. Ghosts don't use friggin knock-out darts." Dean rolled his neck and grunted, then stamped a foot on the concrete floor beneath them and swore. "I _knew_ something didn't feel right about this job!"

Sam wanted to roll his eyes, but decided that wouldn't be such a good idea just now. "Yeah. Sure you did."

"Shut up. You okay?"

"Do you want me to answer the question or shut up?"

"Oh shut up!" His voice dropped to a mutter. "The sarcasm is _my_ territory."

Sam chose to ignore the last bit. "Thanks, Dean. I'm fine. What about you?"

"Yeah."

Sam sighed and finally straightened, pushing his eyes open the rest of the way. "Basement?"

Dean nodded. "Seems to be." He tugged at his arms to no avail. "I don't know who it is yet; they haven't been down here. But whoever it used zip ties _and_ rope," he complained.

Sam frowned and tugged at his own restraints. After a moment he recognized the rope around his wrists and the zip ties binding each arm to a side of the chair. "Fantastic."

"Apparently there is _not_ a job here," Dean snorted. Then he raised his voice to yell up the stairs to a closed door that must lead into the house. "Just some crazy bitch who shot us with friggin _knock-out darts_!"

"Yeah, Dean, make them mad."

"I _am_ gonna make them mad! I'm gonna kill them! I think that would make them a little mad." He shook the chair pulling on his bindings. "I did _not_ need this today! Today was a _good_ day!"

Sam sighed. "Yeah. I know. What now?"

Dean stopped moving. "Quiet."

"What?"

"I think I hear something," he snapped.

Sam glanced up the stairs and listened. Sharp, light footsteps crossed the floor above them, heading for the door at the top of the stairs. "A woman?" he muttered incredulously.

Dean scowled. "I will be seriously pissed off if we got shot by a chick—especially if it's a hot chick."

"I think we did," he answered grimly. "It sounded like a woman—whatever it was she said before she fired."

"Great…."

The door swung open, and a slender figure cast a shadow down the wooden basement stairs. "Well well well. Welcome back to the land of the conscious, boys," an amused voice snarked.

Definitely a woman. Sam heard Dean groan.

"Could this day get any more ridiculous?"

The dark form moved nonchalantly down the steps. "What's wrong, Dean? Beaten by a girl?"

Dean's head shot up again from where he'd rolled it back in exasperation.

"Yes. I know who you are. You too, Sam. I've heard so much about you Winchester boys."

"Oh yeah?" Dean challenged.

Sam squinted. "From who?"

She stepped off of the stairs and into the light of the group of naked bulbs dangling from the ceiling. She was a little more than decent-looking, but what threw Sam off was the long dark cargo jacket she wore over her jeans and tank top. It made him think of—

"A fellow hunter," she smirked, sweeping her long dark hair from her face.

They stared at her.

"What?"

"You're a hunter," Dean said skeptically.

"Is that surprising?"

"You shot us with darts!"

The woman's eyebrows went up. "Whatever works on a hunt."

"We're hunters too, thank you very much," Dean seethed. "So just what are you tying _us_ up for?"

The woman strolled forward and leaned against a support pole a few feet away, crossing her arms. "You might remember a friend of mine? Gordon?"

"Oh no," Sam groaned.

"I suppose that means you do."

"Yeah, cause we put him in the slammer," Dean smirked. He looked her up and down. "Don't tell me you two were actually friends."

She shrugged. "Perhaps I over exaggerated the 'friend' part just a bit, but I know Gordon well enough to believe him when he told me about Sam here."

"And just what did he tell you?" Sam sighed.

The woman looked straight at him, pulled a pistol from her belt and aimed at his head. "That you have to die."

Sam jerked back instinctively, though that wouldn't really help in this case.

"Whoa, whoa, easy!" Dean was shouting. "Nobody's killing anybody here."

She smirked again and glanced back at him. "Don't worry; your brother's not going to die—yet. He may be useful, and unlike Gordon I'm willing to explore that possibility."

"Useful?" Sam echoed apprehensively.

"Your powers, of course."

He swallowed. "Look, lady, if you know about the visions then you know I can't control th—"

"I know you _say_ you can't control them, and you _say_ that you only see deaths. That doesn't make it true."

"You calling him a liar?" Dean challenged. "If that's all he can do, that's all he can do—and personally I'm not too super thrilled about any of it in the first place." Sam shot him a look, and he shrugged.

The woman, meanwhile, turned the gun on Dean as she focused her attention on Sam again. "That's not important. What _is _important, Sam, is that you come with me."

"Over my dead body," Dean snarled.

"It's just for a little while. We need to have a little bit of talk. He'll be back. And if he doesn't come quietly, I'll shoot you."

Sam glared. "It's a little hard to go anywhere tied to a chair."

"True." The edge of her mouth quirked, but that was all. She pulled a knife from a sheath on her leg and snapped Sam's ropes and plastic ties, keeping the gun trained on Dean with her other hand. "Get up slowly and start up the stairs. Stay in sight. Turn on me or try to run, and Dean dies."

Jaw clenched, Sam did as he was told. He didn't look at Dean; he knew his brother wouldn't be happy.

"Sam, sit your ass back in that chair; you're not going anywhere with her."

Nope. Not happy.

Sam glanced back, just for a moment, and that was all it took for the woman to glower at him and tighten her finger on the trigger. Dean's eyes slid warily toward the firearm, and the brothers exchanged glances. Dean backed off; they didn't have a choice.

He went up the steps slowly, taking in every detail of the stairwell to store away for later use. He paused at the top to wait for her, wondering if he could do anything _now_. He didn't step through the door at the top until she told him too, but he did it quickly. When she came after him to complain he slammed the door back in her face and smiled just a little when he heard her cry out and fall back down the stairs.

"Good one, Sammy!" he heard Dean call up. Sam hurried in and back down to get to her before she could recover, but halfway down—

"Stop!"

He jerked to a stop and grimaced, realizing that he hadn't been fast _enough_. The woman had landed near Dean and somehow kept hold of her gun. She had already rolled up onto her knees and pressed the business end of the barrel to his brother's temple. Dean had frozen, a furious expression masking the fear that Sam could see immediately.

"Don't!"

She smirked and slowly came to her feet, keeping the gun at Dean's head. "I really should. Then you would understand how serious I am. But we haven't even gotten started. It wouldn't be any fun to dispatch him now, now would it." She swung the gun down toward one of his feet. "However, that doesn't mean I can't _hurt_ him—"

Sam jolted down another few steps. "No, wait! I'll come! Leave him alone!"

She paused for a long moment, and finally gave an exaggerated sigh. "All right. I suppose I can give the both of you a break, just this once. Try anything else, and someone gets hurt." By the expression on her face, she seemed to almost relish the idea.

Dean snorted. "Bitch."

The woman rammed an elbow back into his face.

"Ah! For cryin out—that's my face, woman!"

"Hey!" He started to take the rest of the stairs back down, but she turned the gun on him again.

"Back up. Now."

Sam glared fiercely and stomped back up the steps to the top to wait for her, nearly shaking. This wasn't going to be easy. They were going to have to play this one safe if they were both going to get out alive; he could see that right now. From the look on Dean's face he saw when he looked back…his brother knew it, too.

The woman took no chances this time. She gave no order to leave the stairwell until she had the barrel of the gun shoved firmly in his back, and she slammed the door behind them.

"Good boy. This way."

With her free hand she gripped his shoulder and steered him away from the basement door and into the next room—what must have once been a bedroom or den. Now it was all but empty, and the only window was heavily boarded up from the inside. There was no way out but through the door, just like in the basement.

Sam swallowed. "Ah, so….you know _our_ names, but…"

"Don't play that game with me."

He shrugged. "Okay, or you could leave us without a name and Dean'll just call you bitch. I'll probably go along with that."

She snorted. "It's Leah." She leaned close to his ear from behind, pinching his skin with the pressure of the gun against his back. "And I know what I'm doing. Don't mess with me."

Sam winced. "Sure."

Leah, if that was really her name, shoved him toward the window, where what looked like a metal table without its legs was propped up with one end on the high window sill. The end that slanted to the floor was secured there, propped in front of a row of thick iron stakes driven into the floor there. It wasn't going anywhere. Chains wrapped around the top and bottom of the slab, and he assumed that was where she wanted him.

But that didn't mean he liked the looks of it.

"Get a move-on, unless you want Dean to need new knee-caps."

Sam hesitated, and she shoved again, with the gun this time.

"Or I could take out yours."

He grimaced. "Calm down, I'm…I'm going." He moved to the end of the table, and she pointed to the gaps between the stakes where he could stand to lean back on it. With her free hand she snapped the end of one of the chains around his right wrist, and then finally lowered the gun to clamp another over his other wrist and loop one of the lengths of chain at the bottom over his ankles.

Sam didn't move; he had no doubt that she would hurt Dean if he didn't cooperate. But while he wasn't moving, he was scanning room, looking for anything he could use later. His chest contracted a little, worried of what she might do to _him_ now, before he had a chance to take her out…but he didn't move.

"What do you want?" he asked finally, when she was done.

"_That_ is simple. Tell me what you can really do, agree to use it to my advantage, and I'll let your brother go."

"You know what I can do. It's not even me doing it; the visions just come. I don't control that."

She smiled sweetly. "Ah, but I'm sure you could—if you can't already, if there really isn't anything else you can do now. I'm still not so sure you're not lying."

"Even if I was, what you do about it?"

Leah chuckled and crossed to the other side of the table—the one he couldn't see from the door. Sam followed her with his eyes, head snapping around to see what it was she bent over then. She flicked a tarp out of the way to reveal a heap of car batteries, wires, cables, and clamps underneath.

Sam felt his face go slack. "You have got to be kidding me."

Leah picked up two of the clamps, which he realized were already connected to one of the batteries. "This is no joke."


	2. Chapter 2

Here you go! I noticed all of you who put this story on a favorites or alerts list already, and thanks so much! I still want to hear what ya'll think of the chapters though, so I'll be looking forward to your reviews! :) Thanks so much to those of you who are reviewing! Enjoy this chapter, and have a great day.

Chapter 2

Sam realized quickly that Leah was serious. The look on her face told him that she wouldn't at all mind hurting him.

"You killed those people, didn't you? You did it to make it seem as if the story were true; to lure us here."

"And the Stanford boy's still got it," she smirked. "Yes, Sam, I simply took the existing lore and made it true. Of course I checked out the house first, in case there really was a ghost, but there's nothing here. I couldn't find the body, either, but neither has anyone else. I suppose it doesn't matter if she's not around anymore."

"But…but how could you?" Sam sputtered in horror. "Those people—they had had nothing to do with any hunt. They were innocent people!"

Leah leaned closer. "And sometimes innocent people have to die to keep the rest of the world safe. Maybe I'm a bit of a vigilante when it comes to the hunting profession, but that doesn't mean I don't_ care_ about the greater good—even if usually the only good I'm concerned for is my own."

Sam glared. "Then you're not a hunter. I'm not sure there _is_ a word for you," he spat.

"Your brother seems to like his own term for me. I suppose from your perspective that would be the most accurate description."

He snorted. "You know, if you wouldn't assume that everyone else lies as often as people like you, then we could avoid all of this. I'm not a threat."

"Really? Maybe that's what you tell yourself now…and perhaps now you're not. But how do you know that will always be true? How do you know you'll never be a threat to anyone?"

Sam swallowed, stared at her angrily…but he had no answer.

"I thought so. Now, let me explain this again: I don't know how much you can really do, but I think it's more than you tell. Even if you think you don't control it, that doesn't mean you can't. We'll work on that. If you don't want to help me willingly…well, after a while I'm sure something will come up."

Her hands tightened on the clamps to squeeze them open.

"What do you _want_?" he asked quickly, stalling. "What do you think I could do for you even if I wanted to?"

"You have visions of the future, Sam," Leah reminded him, eyebrow raised. "What could I _not_ do with that?" She smirked. "Like I said: The greater good is all well and good, but I'm all for self-preservation."

"Are you in trouble?"

She shrugged. "No more than anyone else with this job. But everyone wants something, and some people want everything. I'm not sure where I fall…but eventually, you're going to help me get there."

"But there's nothing I can do," he protested again. She snapped one of the clamps onto the chain just short of his wrist, but there was no immediate current. The circuit wasn't complete yet. "I don't control any of it, really."

Leah slowly circled in front of him, wagging the other clamp in her hand. "Maybe not, but you could get there. I won't have to do this if you agree to try."

"There's nothing to try!"

"With any luck, you'll see things differently soon." She was close enough now.

"Don't. I won't help you." It took effort to keep his voice steady, and for some reason all he could think about at that moment was how pissed Dean was going to be when he found out about this.

"We'll see."

"No, wait—!"

Sam shouted once, when the other clamp hit its mark. The pain was immediate, searing. Somehow he managed to jam his jaw shut before he yelled any more, and once that was done he couldn't unlock it. He couldn't move. He felt his body quivering inside, revolting against the current, but he could do nothing. He heard the inarticulate noises escaping his throat through his barely parted lips, but he didn't know how to stop them.

It took him a little longer to realize that he couldn't breathe, either.

The panic started there. Maybe she didn't plan to kill him now, but what if she didn't know? No, she had to know…but what if she misjudged? What if he died here on this table and left Dean to his own devices? He would kill Leah, and—and he couldn't think any further either. Not now. Not like this—

The pain stopped, and he heaved in a sharp breath that stung his throat and burned in his lungs. He didn't mind that pain; it seemed like an eternity since he'd taken his last breath.

"That was twenty seconds, Sam."

Had she read the question in his face? Was he giving that much away? He couldn't do that; he couldn't give her the satisfaction...

That was only twenty seconds?

"What?" he gasped, caught off guard. His chest still heaved, trying to catch up on air as if it had been out of it for much longer.

He didn't get an answer before the pain came again.

* * *

Dean was straining his ears from the moment Sam was out of his sight. He heard the footsteps stop above and ahead to the left, heard the faint muffled voices…and he heard the one shout. He didn't know what Leah was doing, but he knew his brother was in pain—and he knew he wanted to tear her apart for it.

After that, it was even worse not to hear anything; he didn't even know if Sam was all right.

He couldn't see his watch, but he didn't think it was more than half an hour before the door at the top of the stairs opened again. Sam came through first, under his own power. Maybe he leaned heavily on the rail all the way down, but he was standing. There didn't seem to be any visible signs of struggle…just that he was breathing hard and his skin and hair looked a little damp.

Leah came behind him, the gun in his back to prod him forward. Sam hesitated at the bottom of the stairs and she shoved him. He lost his balance and dropped to his hand and knees, and Leah's foot came back. Sam flinched.

"You kick him, you die," Dean growled. Sam seemed to be having a hard time coordinating his movements to get off the floor, and he hadn't said a word. "What the hell did you do to him?"

Leah raised an eyebrow at him, but she dropped her leg. "I think I should let him explain that." With that answer she reached down and snagged Sam up by his jacket and his hair.

"Hey!" Dean shouted.

Sam let out a surprised cry as one of his hands flew to his head, and it all startled him enough to bring him to his feet and allow Leah to push him the rest of the way to the empty chair. He didn't try to stop her when she tied him up again.

Dean would have liked to insult her a little more, but he realized that if he shut up, she would finish and leave. The sooner she left, the sooner he could find out if his brother was all right. He piped up immediately, the moment the door above was shut again behind her.

"Sammy? Sammy, you okay?"

Sam's head was hung limply over his chest, and he let out an uneven breath. "I'm fine, Dean. She didn't do any damage," he sighed.

"Oh yeah? Then what the hell do you call what's wrong with you?"

"After effects," he groaned.

"Of _what_?" Dean demanded. The uneasiness had already taken hold in his gut, telling him he knew the answer—knew it all too well.

Sam winced, as if he didn't want to answer. "Uhm…electricity."

He stared. "You're not serious."

His head came up and he coughed once. "Would I make a joke about something like that?"

"Then you mean it? She friggin' tried to fry you?"

Sam shrugged.

Dean swore loudly. "Last time I checked that _can_ cause some damage, Sam."

He led his head drop against the back of the chair, and his eyes closed. "Thanks for the reminder."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I don't think she gave me near enough voltage to cause any immediate harm."

"You _think_?"

Sam huffed weakly. "I'm _fine_, Dean. It was a car battery; it doesn't carry the kind of power that damaged your heart."

That sufficiently shut Dean up, for a moment. It was an uncomfortable subject. They didn't like to talk about what had happened last year, especially considering what it had taken for Dean to be healed. He would have stopped the conversation right there, if it weren't for the fact that he assumed Sam had mentioned it for the very purpose of making him stop his line of questioning.

"So…it can't, you know, like kill people, or anything." Sam hesitated, and that was enough to make him worry. "Sam?"

"No," he said quickly—a little too quickly. "Not without prolonged or repeated exposure, anyway…"

Oh.

Both of them were silent for a long moment, unwillingly contemplating the implications. It was Dean who spoke first, tentatively.

"So…you're saying if she keeps that up, we've got some time constriction on getting out of here?"

Sam grimaced and finally picked his head up. His eyes open and he straightened. "Probably. Yeah."

Dean huffed. "I don't believe this…" He paused for a moment. "But hey, you know we'll get out of here. How much time are we talking about, anyway?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "I guess it depends on a lot of things." _Like how often she tries it, how long, how high the voltage is…_Dean winced even though he didn't say any of it. "We should have a few days before it becomes a problem, though."

"Oh it's _already_ a problem," Dean scoffed. "And I sure as hell ain't lettin her do that to you for a few _days_. I'm about ready to claw her eyes out for doing it the _once_."

"Thanks for the sentiment," Sam smirked tiredly.

"What, you think that's funny? I'm gonna kill the bitch."

"So I gathered," his brother nodded.

"I mean it."

He sighed. "No, you don't."

Dean scowled. "Doesn't matter; she's got it comin' anyway. Seriously, who fries people anymore? Or uses knock-out darts!"

"Dude, get off the darts."

His eyebrows went up. "It's friggin cliché, man. Of course I'm gonna be all over it."

"Whatever, Dean." Sam leaned back as much as he could in the wooden chair and let his chin rest on his chest again—even though he'd already been sitting up before. That wasn't recovery; it was fatigue…and _that_ wasn't a good sign. Not at, like, two in the afternoon.

"Sam?"

"What?" he asked, in his let-me-sleep voice. Sam never slept on the job. Or the capture on the job, or whatever. But…maybe if he let him rest, he would be fine later. Yeah. He just needed the rest, that was all. It made sense, after what Leah had apparently done to him. Didn't it?

Dean blinked a couple of times. "Uh…nothing."

A moment ago he'd been sure his brother would be fine. Now…he was already worried, and he hated it.

* * *

Sam wasn't sure how long he dozed, but by the time he was wide awake again he was already feeling guilty for it. He should have stayed awake, been helping Dean plan something. They had to get out of here.

He was about to apologize when Dean suddenly sat up straighter.

"Crap!"

"What?"

His voice dropped to a loud whisper, probably to keep Leah from possibly overhearing what he said next. "Bobby. We're supposed to meet him in Ohio later this week on that possible vampire thing on that college campus."

Sam stared at him. "Yeah…I know. Hopefully we'll be out of here by then."

"But if we're not, he'll come looking for us."

"Wouldn't that be a good thing?"

"Not if he's not expecting a random chick ambush and she catches _him_ off guard, too. That's the last thing we need."

He sighed. "Could you _try_ not to be such a pessimist?"

"Hey, I'm all for optimism. I'm just saying that it would better if we escaped sometime _before_ Thursday."

It was sometime late Tuesday afternoon now. They were meeting Bobby in Cedarville, Ohio Thursday night.

"It would be nice if we escaped _well_ before Thursday."

Dean shrugged. "I was just saying…" He fell silent for a moment. "Hey, isn't that Cedarville place like a church college or something?"

"It's Cedarville _University_, and yes, it's a Christian college."

"Ironic."

"A little."

They fell silent again.

"It's a good thing you do your research, though. Otherwise we would have missed that, and it's just too dang funny," Dean said eventually.

"Uh huh. You're welcome."

More silence.

"Damn, I hate being bored."

Sam couldn't help but laugh then, and both of them were still chuckling when the door opened overhead. Dean stopped immediately and glowered up the stairs. Sam just trailed off uncomfortably

Dean cursed under his breath. "Oh no she doesn't."

"Dean, don't do anything stupid. You need feet to run," he muttered.

"Thank you, House."

Leah clomped heavily down the stairs, a little less casually then the first time. The pistol came up immediately, aimed between Dean's eyes.

"Nothing's changed," Sam deadpanned.

"Damn straight."

"_You_, shut up," she snapped at Dean. "Or I'll cut you a new mouth."

"Ooo, scary. Like I haven't heard that one before. "

Leah looked like she would really rather silence his brother for good right then and there than deal with his mouth, so Sam jumped in as quickly as he could.

"Listen, if you're bringing me with you, just untie me and let's go."

Dean jerked around to stare at him. "Are you crazy?"

"Well, I'd rather not get you shot—not that you're not capable of making her do it all by yourself."

"Amen," Leah glared. She pulled out her knife again, circled around and cut Sam free. "Move."

"Sam…" Dean said tightly.

He glanced back, smiled a little. There would be no trying anything this time—not with the risk of getting himself or Dean killed. There would be no stopping anything this time, this once, at least—not until they had a plan. They had learned that earlier.

Sam wasn't looking forward to this at all, but he would be all right…and Dean needed to know that.

His brother swallowed and rolled his eyes a little, but protest he did not. "Bitch."

"Jerk."

Leah seemed to gather that Dean hadn't been talking to her, and didn't say anything. She just prodded him in the back with the gun, and urged him up the stairs.

* * *

Dean heard it this time.

Not at first, but after a little while Sam shouted—more of a piercing, distressed moan than anything, but it was enough to clog his throat.

Then there were more.

However Leah was doing it, exactly, it was worse this time. It had to be, and it was worse for _him_ because he couldn't picture exactly what she was doing. He didn't want to…and it was worse not knowing if he would even be better off knowing.

But he knew that after that he could hear Sam cry out every now and then, and that it hurt him just as much as if it were him up there.

It had been longer this time, when the sounds stopped. He didn't know how long, but it was too long.

Dean cursed the dampness in his eyes, cursed again when some of it escaped while he was trying to blink it away. Heavy, faltering footsteps came with the short staccato ones above, heading for the door at the top of the stairs. He frantically craned his head from one side to the other to wipe his face on his sleeves. He couldn't let Sam see that. He had to be the strong one. He had to—

Well he'd already failed at protecting his brother. His strength was all he had left.

Dean swore just as the door opened. Leah came through _with_ Sam, this time. His head hung low, and he wasn't supporting himself. As if that weren't bad enough, she lost her grip on him. He slipped onto his back and slid heavily down the stairs.

"Sam!" The younger Winchester flipped over and landed in a heap on the concrete at the bottom, unmoving, and above them the door slammed and locked again.

"Sammy?"

For another agonizing moment there was no answer. Fear clamped a vice over his chest, and he couldn't breathe any more than he was sure or not that Sam was. _No…_

Then Sam moaned quietly and rolled onto his back. "Owww…"

"Sam, thank god. How long you gonna stay down there?"

"Until I can open my eyes without the room spinning," he answered seriously.

Dean blinked. "Right…" He sighed. "Hey, you okay?"

"I'll live," he answered softly. He groaned again and levered himself up against the last couple of steps. He leaned there, arms around his chest—which worried him right there—and his air didn't seem to be coming evenly enough for Dean's satisfaction. Slowly Sam pried his eyes open and squinted up at his brother. "So…did I miss anything?"

"Oh yeah; we had a wild, drunken party while you were gone."

Sam chuckled weakly, coughed once, but Dean took the laugh as a good sign—any good sign he could get. How could Sam be so much worse already? Or would this pass? He would be fine, right? Dean was trying to make himself believe it—until his brother's face abruptly crumpled in pain.

"Sam?"

"I'm fine, Dean," he gasped. As if to prove it he grabbed the stair rail and pulled himself first to his knees, and then all the way up to his feet. He glanced around then, as if just realizing something. "She didn't tie me up."

_Because she underestimated you—probably didn't think you'd be doing much of anything after all that._

"Good. Take the chance and get over here and untie me. No rush though."

Sam nodded, but he stumbled over to Dean immediately anyway, supporting himself on one of the poles along the way. He dropped to his knees behind the chair and untied the ropes easily enough…but Dean could feel his brother's hands shaking.

He didn't say anything.

They both remembered the zip ties at the same moment. "They're around your arms; see—"

"Way ahead of you, Sammy." He pulled his arms up and wiggled his hands through the plastic loops. As soon as they were free he jumped to his feet. "Thank god!" He rolled his wrists out. "Yikes."

Sam crossed haltingly to the nearest wall and slid to the floor against it. His arms crossed over his chest again, as if holding something back. Dean swallowed quietly and stretched his legs before he went to his brother. "Hey, are you _really_ okay?"

"Why should I answer that question honestly?" he smirked. "You never do."

"Okay, I'll admit the touché there."

Sam shrugged. "I'll be fine, Dean."

"You _will_ be? As in you're not now?"

He grimaced, and his arms tightened subconsciously. "Not really." He must have seen where Dean was looking, because a moment later he purposefully pulled his arms away from his body and pulled in a careful breath. "It's nothing; I'm just…sore."

"Sore?" Dean echoed, unconvinced.

Sam hesitated uncomfortably. "It's not what you think, really—at least I don't think so. It's my lungs more than anything. It's just that when she….I can't breathe when it—I don't know. But I should be fine as soon as we get out of here and I can get some fresh air. Okay?"

Dean nodded slowly, warily. "So this electricity crap can mess with your lungs, too?"

"Yeah…It just didn't have _time_ to do any damage to yours, you know?"

"I guess the massive heart attack kind of overrode that concern anyway, huh?" he answered sarcastically.

"Yeah."

He crossed his arms and snorted. "Great. Well, that's just fantastic…"

"Dean, if we can get out of here as soon as possible, we won't have anything to worry about. It probably takes a while for there to be any kind of lasting damage—"

"Yeah, probably. If. The problem is that we don't know, do we?"

Sam hesitated a moment. "What happened to being all for optimism?"

"Oh, I'm still for the optimism, 'cause I'm saying right now that you're gonna be fine. If you make me a liar, I'll kill you myself. Capiche?"

He laughed a little. "Okay, Dean. I'll be fine. But I told you that already."

"Good. I'm glad we agree." Dean nodded once at that and turned on his heel, stalking over to the other wall to feign searching for an alternate way out of the basement while he reigned in his fury. Maybe Sam would be fine, but that didn't make what Leah had done any more admissible. He'd heard it this time, and he didn't want it to happen again. He'd heard more than enough already.

The calm lasted for all of a moment or two before Dean kicked the wall.

"Ah! Stupid, stupid, stupid…"

"Dean?"

"What!" He spun around on one foot to find his brother watching him in amusement.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm…looking for a way outta here."

Sam just stared.

"_And_ I'm just a _little_ upset, because this whole thing is bullshit. There. You happy now?"

Sam laughed once. "There are no windows down here, Dean, and I don't think we're digging our way out through concrete."

He huffed. "Well we sure as hell have to do _something_. She's only dragged you up there twice and you already look like crap."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Hey, it's not you and your mojo I don't trust; it's her and her sick kicks," he said quickly. He didn't want Sam to think he was worrying. If he thought so, he would just push himself harder. If what Leah was doing to him could really cause damage, that could make it worse.

But for right now, Sam was fine. Dean refused to believe anything different. After all, they'd just gotten here.

He glanced at his watch.

"Whoa, almost seven-thirty. What a day, huh?"

Sam let out a heavy breath in response.

"Anyway; time to get down to business." He clapped his hands to rub them together once or twice, and sprung up the stairs. He jiggled the handle, but the lock was firm, and he had nothing to pick it with. Leah had taken the gun, EMF meter, and everything from their pockets before they'd woken up the first time. So instead, he braced himself between the walls of the stairwell.

"Wait a minute."

Dean sighed and headed back down the stairs so he could see Sam. "What?"

His brother was pulling himself up on the wall. "Are you trying to kick that door in?" He got to his feet and swayed a little, still looked a little shaky, but it wasn't so bad anymore.

"Uhm, yeah."

"You'll rebound back and fall and break your neck; let me get up there and spot you," he scolded.

"Nah, I'll be fine."

"Dean."

If Sam hadn't managed to keep steady when he stepped away from the wall, Dean would have protested further. But without hard reason he had no excuse not to let him come, without letting him on to the whole worry thing…

"Fine. Come on."

"I don't think it'll do any good," Sam commented as he followed behind. "She's not stupid."

Dean shrugged at the top and braced himself again. "We'll find out in a second." Sam braced behind him, and he kicked at the door a few good times. "Come on, you…"

But nothing happened. He tried again, with his shoulder using his body weight, but that came to no avail, either.

"Son of a—"

"What?"

"There's gotta be something in front of the door."

"I told you she wasn't stupid."

Dean sighed. "Right. Well, only one more thing to do right now then."

Sam looked at him skeptically. "What is that?"

He smirked and hurried back down. "I'm gonna see if that's a half bathroom under the stairs. If it's not, it sure will be."

* * *

Soft lips brushed his forehead, and for a moment he was sure it was Jessica. _You look like him, _a soft voice murmured mournfully. _You look so much like him…_

But…she would have no reason to say that…and she was gone. That was when he realized that he must be—

Sam shivered and jerked awake. He sat up swiftly, realizing that he'd fallen asleep again, on the floor by the wall this time. He didn't know why he'd been shivering; it wasn't cold.

But his chest was aching dully from the sharp breath he'd taken in waking, reminding him why it hurt and where he was.

"Sam?"

Dean was on his feet at the opposite wall, though it wasn't clear why. Sam shook away the dizziness that came with waking disoriented, and climbed to his feet. The world kept spinning only for a few seconds this time, but it must have been enough to bother Dean. When his vision cleared, Sam could see his brother's set jaw from across the room.

"Yeah…hey."

"Something wrong?"

"No, just a dream, I guess." A glance at his watch told him it was past ten. "Good; I didn't sleep long."

Dean shrugged. "Doesn't matter." Which translated to: You needed the rest, so I let you have it. Dean was worrying about him, but there was no reason to let on that he knew it. That would only bother Dean.

Sam wondered over. "I don't guess anything interesting happen while I was out, did it?"

"Absolutely not—and I still hate being bored.

* * *

They heard the sliding and scraping first, as whatever-it-was was moved away from the door. Sam had been too semi-conscious, and Dean too concerned to hear it when it was put there hours before.

The brothers were on the floor, cross-legged, whispering strategy, and Sam's head was the first to pop up at the sound. Dean watched him carefully, and was taken aback by what he saw: Instead of the carefully controlled apprehension of last time…there was fear this time, on his face. Sam was afraid to go up there again.

And suddenly tearing Leah apart with his bare hands really didn't seem like such a bad idea.

He stood up quickly. "Come on, take it easy. She's just a chick; we can take her."

"She's a chick with a gun, Dean," Sam answered glumly. He stood slowly, but didn't follow his brother toward the stairs. He was the one to suggest the next course of action, but Dean wasn't happy about it. It wasn't much better than last time…

But he didn't want Sam to be hurt again, either.

There was no more time. The door opened, and her voice cut down the stairwell.

"You know the drill, Sam; come up here or Dean will need a new knee. And Dean, don't move until this door is closed, or Sam will get the same treatment."

Dean swore under his breath. "Sam, don't. We need more time."

Sam came as far as where his brother was standing and glanced at him miserably. "I don't have a choice."

"Well that's just—just stupid."

"I know," he answered quietly.

He started to mount the stairs, but Dean caught his arm. "Okay try, all right?"

Sam nodded once, and then he went up. Trapped standing at the bottom of a bottleneck with a gun aimed down at his head, Dean could do nothing but watch him go.

As soon as Sam and Leah were gone, he attacked the wall again.

* * *

Leah had Sam move the cabinet in front of the door for her, so she could keep the gun trained on him. He felt better once it was there; she couldn't get to Dean as quickly that way. That was what his idea was based on—the one Dean had reluctantly told him to go ahead and try.

He spun quickly, going for the gun. It might have worked if he hadn't still been weak. As it was he lost his balance, missed the weapon by mere millimeters, and heard it go off as she fired in reflex.

The bullet slammed into his lower leg, dropping him immediately. Sam heard himself scream, and then he heard Dean from downstairs, shouting his name. He would have replied, but Leah was close…maybe he could still accomplish this. She wouldn't expect him to come back at her now. If he could just get the gun—

Sam set his jaw and pushed himself back to his feet on his good leg, but she saw him coming too soon.

The last thing he saw was the butt of the gun swinging toward his head.


	3. Chapter 3

Here you go! Things have been busy, so this did take almost a week, but it shouldn't ever take any longer than that...Anyway, thanks so much for the reviews; I hope you'll all continue to let me know what you think; it helps so much! And don't be afraid of contructive responses, too. I want to get better! So anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. have a great weekend. :)

Chapter 3

The shot brought Dean away from the wall, calling his brother's name. He was halfway up the stairs before he remembered that he couldn't get through the door.

"Sam!"

He pounded on the wooden door as a grunt and a heavy thud ended the scuffling coming from the other side.

"SAM!"

"He's alive, Dean. I'm just afraid he can't answer you right now," Leah's voice answered after a moment.

"What hell did you do to him!"

She laughed humorlessly. "It's just a leg; he'll be fine. Don't have a heart attack. If it makes you feel any better, I'll even patch it up for him."

Dean snarled and tried ramming his shoulder into the door again, but it didn't work any better than last time. "I'll kill you, you bitch!"

"So you've said," she answered drily. "Now if you'll excuse me…"

"No! You leave him the hell alone!"

There was no answer this time, and he threw himself into the door again. Dean tried again, and again, and again…and he couldn't stop slamming into the door any more than he could turn off the blind rage.

Finally he slipped, and ended up on his rear at the base of the stairs. He scrambled back up and pounded on the door with his fists for another moment before his mind finally registered the fact that it was all useless. Dean sank onto the top step then, and felt his shoulders shake with a sob that he wouldn't let himself release aloud.

By now he could hear nothing from the other side of the door he was leaning on. He had no idea if Sam was in the next room again, or if Leah had taken him somewhere else this time. He didn't know where his brother was or what Leah was doing to him.

It took him a moment to realize that he couldn't even be sure if she had lied or not; he couldn't even be certain if she would bring Sam back alive.

The sob came back, clenching in Dean's throat and twisting his face into a grimace.

He had failed again.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," he swallowed.

* * *

A sudden flash of pain dragged Sam back from the darkness. Light burned in his eyes when they shot open in shock, and he heard himself shout. The pain echoed in his stomach, and he doubled over, realizing that he was on his side on a cold tile floor. His ankles were bund, and his hands were tied behind his back.

The pain was a result of Leah's foot in his gut—which she smashed into him again as soon as his eyes opened.

Sam grunted and coughed, scowling at the sharp ache in his chest when he did. It took longer to catch his breath than he thought it should, and when he had he glared pointedly up at Leah.

"You shot me!"

"You turned on me."

He grimaced as he finally registered the lingering pain from his leg, and glanced down. He was more than a little surprised to see the left leg of his jeans rolled up neatly, and a bandage around the wound.

"The bullet is out, too. It wasn't anything serious, really. You're not in any danger from _that_, anyway."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he snorted.

Leah smiled, but still it never reached her eyes. "It means that my patience is selective. Agree to help me, and I will wait as long as I need to for you to strength your abilities enough for me to make use of them—but I won't be so patient in waiting for that agreement." She hooked one of his arms and dragged him up onto his knees. With his wrists and ankles tied, he had no way to hold onto anything, and there was no resistance from the smooth floor.

Tile.

It was tile, he remembered. That was when Sam grasped the fact that they were in a bathroom—a decently-sized, cream-tiled bathroom—and saw the plugged bathtub already full of water. He tried to pull back then, but the knees of his jeans slipped on the tile, and he groaned when it jarred the leg wound.

"You're crazy!" he accused.

But that was all he got out before Leah pushed his upper body over the edge, shoved his head under the water, and held it there.

Sam knew not to scream. It would do him no good, and only cost him his air. Instead he struggled, jerking backward against her arms, but he wasn't strong enough anymore. His jeans found no purchase on the floor, and when he tried to use that to slip out from under her, Leah brought a knee down on his calves to keep him in place. The pressure on his wounded leg almost sent him back to unconsciousness right there.

Leah pulled him up quickly, and Sam gulped in air. "Wh-what are you doing!" he gasped, blinking water out of his eyes.

She didn't answer the question directly. "I could kill you, you know. It wouldn't break my heart. Don't think I won't do it. There will always be another way, another chance for me to come out on top. I'm really_ not_ a patient woman, when it comes to some things. Keep me waiting too long to give in, and I just won't bother with you any further. You'll be dead like Gordon wants you."

"I'm not doing anything for a self-serving bitch," he snapped, struggling.

"Suit yourself."

She pushed him under again, and Sam fought again. It still did no good. Leah kept her knee on his legs, and soon the pain and lack of oxygen sapped away any energy he had left. He tugged back weakly, but it was more to show her that he wasn't giving up, than anything else. He focused on conserving what little air he had left, but it didn't last much longer. His chest hurt much more than he thought it should have, and his heart pounded loudly in his ears as if it were complaining.

The need for air became desperate, and when he opened his eyes and realized his vision was fading, Sam panicked.

Dean. Bobby. Killing the damn demon. God, he couldn't just die!

His mouth opened under the water, not releasing even the smallest bubble of air. He was out of time. _No!_ he thought he screamed it—or wanted too. He felt his vocal chords vibrating, but everything else was fading. He couldn't hear the water in his ears, or Leah above him shouting questions he wouldn't have been able to understand anyway.

Then suddenly there was light, and air, and sharp pain at the back of his head where Leah pulled him up by his hair that was quickly forgotten for the pain in his chest when he could finally breathe. Sam couldn't help but groan when he let out the breath he'd taken, and he heard Leah give some sort of knowing snort.

"Care for another dip?" she asked near his ear.

"Not…really…" he gasped.

"Sorry."

Then he was under again.

* * *

Sam gasped awake coughing and sputtering, spitting water.

"No…"

He'd moaned the plea before he realized that he wasn't on his knees anymore. There was no tile floor beneath him, but he was still cold.

The rest came back slowly. He remembered going under again, and again, and again…he'd lost consciousness more than once. She made sure he woke up when he lost it, and his ribs hurt to prove it. He wasn't sure, but it seemed as if maybe Leah had revived him once or twice, too.

Sam sighed away from the thought and tried to catch his breath, but his throat felt like sandpaper, small and constricted. His chest still ached, and it wasn't any wonder after the oxygen deprivation—not that he knew how long Leah had been at it.

His eyes were still closed. He was too exhausted for even the water to his face to make them open against his will. He didn't want to open them. He was afraid of what would happen if he did.

Because Dean wouldn't be splashing water in his face.

"Hi, Sam."

The voice was near his ear again, and a shallow breath caught in his throat. "What…do you want?" he grated out.

"You know what I want first," Leah purred. "Tell me you'll be a good boy and do what I say; then this can all stop."

"Not…happening."

"You know your brother is still down there, unharmed. I could change that."

Sam opened his eyes now, and turned his head on the table enough to glower at her. "Leave Dean out…of this."

"Agree, and I will. I'll even let him go. I've told you this."

Sam groaned again, purely out of frustration. He was going around in circles with the woman. Leah waited a few more long seconds, but when he didn't look at her again and he said nothing, she huffed.

"Fine. We'll try another approach." He heard her picking up the clamps, and couldn't help but tug discretely at the chains. She snapped one of the clamps on, and circled around him with the other. "I'll apologize ahead of time; this will probably be worse, since you still happen to be rather wet. But I suppose that's the point."

He tried to clear his throat, but it didn't help much. Still, he managed to get through a sentence without pausing for a breath. "How is that a different approach?"

Leah smirked. "I'm not asking you for anything anymore." She leaned closer. "I want you to _make_ me stop."

"What?"

"I've heard about others of your kind. Silly little visions aren't the only thing you all can do. Like I've said, I know you could do more if you tried—so make me stop."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean!"

She shrugged and leaned back again. "I'm sure I don't know: telekinesis, mind-control me…I'm sure you'll come up with something eventually."

"I can't do anything like that…" But, of course, that was a bit of a lie. There was the once, more than a year ago, when he'd moved something with his mind. Then, though, he'd been afraid that Dean was about to die. He'd seen the vision, and he had to stop it. He hadn't been able to move anything since, and Dean was really the only one who knew.

But maybe she was right; maybe he could, if he was pushed far enough.

But he would rather not be pushed that far.

Sam swallowed hard. "It doesn't matter…Even if it turned out that I could do more, I wouldn't use it for you."

"But in the end, Sam, I still have Dean. I don't think you want him dead."

He couldn't argue with that, but he knew he couldn't help her. But what if it came to that? Do what she wanted or let his brother die?

He couldn't let anything happen to Dean, either.

"No…"

But Sam wasn't sure just what he was protesting against this time, and it didn't matter anyway.

Leah attached the other clamp.

* * *

Dean paced the basement a while, and then he tried staying still. He tried sitting, and he tried being on his feet. Nothing helped ease the tension in his neck and shoulders, and nothing helped him catch even the slightest sound from above. For a good two hours or more he heard nothing.

He tried not to think about what that could mean. They could just be elsewhere in the house, too far for him to hear, but it could also mean that he had heard something wrong before, that Leah had lied, that Sam might be—

But he wouldn't let his thoughts stray there.

Dean was too relieved for words when there was finally sound. He didn't know where they were coming from, but it sounded as if Leah were bringing Sam back. He was at the foot of the stairs when the sounds moved past the door and into the room she had brought Sam into both times before.

She wasn't _done_ yet?  
He stayed frozen at the foot of the steps, dreading what had to come next. Sam must have been unconscious; Dean heard him wake up. He heard the muffled voices that argued for a moment or so, and it wasn't enough.

Then the screaming started.

"No! Nonononono, leave him alone!" Dean pounded up the stairs, tripped again, landed hard on his knees halfway up. He didn't get up this time; it wouldn't do anyone any good for him to get to the door at the top. He couldn't get through it. Leah wouldn't listen to him…And suddenly the reality of it all was a crushing weight on his shoulders. He couldn't have gotten up if he wanted to.

Sam's screams cut into his ears like knives, ripping and tearing from his mind to his heart. He didn't know how his brother could even be making those noises; the sounds were choked and sporadic, as if he couldn't get the air to do but couldn't help doing it anyway. It sounded as if the screams themselves hurt him.

Dean didn't know how long it went on, how often it paused, or when it finally stopped. He only knew that when the sudden silence pulled him out of the haze, he was bent over on the stairs, forehead in his hands. His face was damp, and his throat hurt, and he couldn't think straight. Dean snagged the stair rail to pull himself to his feet and scrubbed at his face to dry it as he staggered up to the door. Whatever piece of furniture blocked the other side was finally being moved again.

"Sam?" he asked irrationally, once the scraping stopped. There was no way Sam was conscious…

"Back away from the door, Dean."

Of course. Leah.

"I don't think so, bitch."

"Do you want your brother back or not?"

He glared through the wood. "Listen, I won't try anything if you'll just open the damn door and give him to me. Let me bring him back down myself."

There was a long pause from the other side. "Fine."

The lock clicked, the door opened, and then Sam's tall frame was shoved backwards through the door at him. His brother's shoulder landed in Dean's chest, knocking the wind out of him, and he stumbled, going to his knees with Sam and locking his arms around him from behind to keep them both from tumbling back down the stairs.

In seconds the door had been shut and locked again, but Dean ignored the scraping on the other side to focus on his brother. "Sam…? God, Sammy…"

Sam was all but soaked at least from the waist up, giving him too much of an idea of where Leah had dragged him off to first.

Dean felt his fury building as he took stock of Sam's injuries. His wrists were bruised and rope-burned, from that and whatever she had been using to restrain him when she…electrocuted him. Dean caught sight of the bandages around the bullet wound in Sam's left leg, and with that jeans leg rolled up he also noticed the similar rope marks around his ankle. He assumed the other ankle looked the same, though they weren't as bad as his wrists. Sam's shirt hadn't landed flat, and from under the hiked-up edge he saw the beginnings of bruises on his stomach. Dean pulled the shirt up for a moment before straightening it out for him, and saw that the bruises spread all the way up to Sam's chest. They were still light, but the fact that they were there in the first place was enough to fuel the anger.

With Sam's back and shoulder against his chest, Dean could feel his brother breathing, feel his heart beating—feel him _alive_. It was enough to keep him from cracking, but it didn't help that he could also feel that it was all…off. Sam's heartbeat was still steady, but…it was weak, he thought, and his breathing was much worse. It was shallow, shaky.

But if he was alive he could recover, right? Sam had said he would recover. He'd said it was only after effects. He'd said it should take a lot longer for there to be permanent damage—and Sam usually knew what he was talking about.

Yes. Sam had to be right. He had to be fine. Dean remained motionless for several more long minutes, just holding his brother, not caring that Sam's wet hair was in his face. His throat still ached and his eyes still stung, and silently he repeated to himself over and over the fact that Sam was _here_, that he wasn't with Leah. He was alive. He would be okay. He had to be okay.

He wasn't expecting Sam to wake up so soon, but then again he was a tough kid. After a few more minutes he stirred weakly in Dean's grip, moaning softly. "Ah…god…"

"Sam?"

His eyes flickered open after a moment, and he reacted immediately. He bucked back against the grip around him, nearly sending Dean down the stairs. He tightened his grip around the weak struggle, shouting near his brother's ear.

"Sam, take it easy! Take it easy! It's me!"

Sam went limp against his shoulder, and it seemed whatever strength he'd had when he woke was already gone. "Dean?" he croaked weakly. It was nearly a sob.

"Yeah…it's just me."

"Thank god…" he coughed.

"You okay?"

Sam grimaced and wrapped trembling arms around his chest. "Stupid question."

Both of them fell silent for a long moment.

"How long was I…?"

"You were gone about three hours or so," Dean gulped. "I couldn't hear anything most of time. I…I was afraid she'd lied or something." He didn't have to spell out what he meant by that. Sam understood, and his head ducked.

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault."

Sam's breathing had improved a little being awake, but it wasn't enough to drop the problem off Dean's radar. "Hey, man, you gettin' enough air?"

"Enough," he agreed quietly. "I'll be fine, I'm…sure it'll pass."

"Yeah…"

More silence again. More damned awkward silence.

"Dean?"

"What?"

"Are we staying on the stairs?"

His eyebrows went up. "Oh. No, we're not staying here—unless you want to. Or we could just wait. It might not be too pleasant getting down there."

Sam smirked a little, his eyes closed again now. "Yeah, I kind of figured, but we can't stay up here."

"Yeah, I guess not." Dean sighed a stood up slowly, holding Sam's upper body up off the steps with a grip under his arms. His brother groaned when he made the shift to his feet, but he didn't protest, and Sam brought up his left knee to keep his bandaged wound from bumping the stairs.

"I guess we just take this slow…?"

Sam nodded in agreement. "Yeah, just…slow."

"Okay." Dean stepped back and down carefully, making sure to go only one step at a time, and pulled Sam with him. He was as gentle as he could be, dragging him down stairs, but there was just no avoiding the fact that it hurt him.

"Easy, Sammy. Almost there." Sam was gasping by the time they got to the bottom, and it wasn't only his arms shaking anymore. "Uhm, you wanna go over by the wall, or—"

"No. Just stop," he grated out.

Dean nodded wordlessly and lowered him to the ground beside the base of the stairs. He was no doctor, and he didn't know if the shivering was shock or if Sam was just cold and wet, but he knew he had to warm him up. He went in search of Sam's jacket, which lay abandoned across the room, and by the time he came back Sam had curled onto his side and gripped his arms around his chest again.

He was still shivering.

Dean settled Sam's jacket over him, and then pulled his own off and folded it up. He meant to pick Sam's head up for him to put it under there, but as soon as his hand brushed his brother's hair Sam jerked his head up on his own—as if to offer some semblance of reassurance that he wasn't completely helpless.

"Okay…" Dean settled the jacket on the floor, and Sam dropped his head onto it, muttering a tired thank you. Dean slid to the floor and sat beside his brother, back against the wall of the stairwell. At first he tried to stay quiet, let Sam rest…but the labored breathing still bothered him.

He cleared his throat to bring attention to himself. "So, uh…you think you got any broken ribs in there or anything?"

Sam squinted up at him. "What?"

"I saw the bruises, Sam."

He blinked. "Oh…" his head curled down again. "No, it's not that bad. I don't think anything's broken."

"They could still be cracked; to be brutally honest, man, you sound like crap. Well you look it too, but that's not the point."

Sam actually chuckled a little at that—another check on the good-sign tally for today, until he stopped and moaned. "Ah, don't make me laugh, you jerk."

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but then he smirked. "Dude, I'm not calling you a bitch lookin like that."

"Thanks so much," he answered, rolling his eyes.

"And back to the _subject_…"

Sam huffed out a small breath. "Dean, I don't know if anything's cracked, or if it's just what she did. I just know it hurts to breathe, okay?"

Dean winced. "Ouch." Or that was all he said on the outside, anyway. Inside, he was on the verge of panic. That was bad, wasn't it?

He reached out and clapped a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Just hang in there. We'll be out of here before you know it."

The words of so many before him who had been wrong.

Dean could only hope that _he_ was telling the truth.


	4. Chapter 4

Happy Saturday! Lol, here's another chapter for ya'll. I can't wait to hear what you think! Enjoy, and have a great day! Thanks!

NOTE: I'd like to thank skag trendy again for recommending this story in her last chapter update! Thanks!

Chapter 4

Dean woke groggy, unsure of where he was, or why his back hurt. It took a moment for all of it to come back—for the anger to seat itself in his gut again. His hands went out, caught on the concrete floor, and he realized he'd slumped over where he'd been sitting against the base of the stairwell. His back cracked as he sat up, and he blinked blearily out at the basement. He could make out the shape on the floor on in front of him that he knew to be Sam.

But for a moment, he thought he saw another shape hovering over his brother.

Dean blinked to clear his vision, and the other shape was gone. If it had been there at all. Still half awake, he shook it off and went on big-brother autopilot, checking to make sure Sam was still all right. He rested a hand on his brother's chest, but what he felt didn't make him feel any better. The rattle was still there.

So Sam was breathing, but it only sounded a little better than what he remembered last. When he saw his watch and realized that both of them had been out for almost eleven hours—which ticked him off right there; damn Leah for wearing them both out so thoroughly—Dean worried that Sam should have had time to rebound more by now.

It had been more than an hour or two after midnight when Leah brought him back last night, but it was past noon now. Shouldn't he sound better again by now?

And that was when Dean realized what had woken him up.

He didn't notice the scraping until it stopped, and his gaze snapped to the top of the stairs. "Oh hell no," he hissed. He was on his feet when the door opened, standing his ground at the bottom of the stairs.

Leah raised an eyebrow when she saw him. "Where's Sam?"

Dean glanced down at Sam, and realized that he was just enough out of the way that she couldn't see him. "He's still out cold, thanks to you," he snarled. "And I wouldn't touch him right now if you know what's good for you."

She clicked the safety off and aimed her pistol down at him again. "You're forgetting I'm the one with the gun."

"Oh yeah? Personally, I think you trust that thing too much. I bet you wouldn't last two seconds in a fight without it," he smirked.

Leah leaned against the doorway casually, gun still aimed at him. "Don't be so sure; making assumptions can be dangerous."

"Like the one where you assume you can do whatever the hell you want to Sam. Sorry, sweetheart, but I don't think so. Not any more." Did he know exactly how he was going to make that true? Not really. But Dean knew he couldn't let her hurt Sam again.

She gave a melodramatic sigh. "Well, I suppose you're right _this_ time. I don't think I want to burn him out just yet." She smirked at him. "I_ am_ bored though."

Dean glowered and took the first couple of steps threateningly. "Then why don't you take _me_?"

Leah cocked her head at him, appraising how serious he was. "You don't _really_ want that, do you?"

No. Not really. But…

"If it'll keep you away from Sam, I don't care," he snapped.

She studied him for another moment, and slowly her smile spread. "All right. Come up here, then."

Dean blinked in surprise, and glanced at Sam again. He was still sleeping soundly, dead to the world. But if he woke up; if he found out about this…he wouldn't be happy. Well...that was, if Leah actually managed to pull anything over on him. He fully intended to seize any chance he might be given to take her out.

Right now, he was faster than Sam. He could do this; he would take her down, and he could get Sam out of here—to Bobby. Hospitals, such public places were dangerous now, with the FBI on their tails, but Bobby would know what to do.

_I'll be right back, Sammy_, he thought hopefully.

Dean started up the stairs, but stopped when he realized that Leah wasn't in the doorway anymore.

"Keep coming, Dean. I'm waiting."

He cursed quietly. It would be harder to take her on if he didn't know exactly where she was when he got to the top of the stairs…but then again she probably knew that. He would just have to be careful.

Dean took the rest of the stairs gradually, listening hard for any clues as to where Leah was. Finally he thought he had her off to the right, but he wasn't sure how far back, and he had to assume the gun would be on him as soon as he crossed the threshold.

Damnit, this was stupid, dangerous…like a freaking game of cat and mouse. But he had no choice. He had to get Sammy out of here. He had to get him some _help_.

He paused at the top, and a slight movement out of the corner of his eye was enough to give him sufficient information about where Leah was. He ducked and rolled through the door, planning to come up under her arms and knock the gun away—then beat the crap out of her.

Instead, a maddeningly familiar sting pierced his shoulder, and then he was flat on his back. He didn't have to look to know she'd used the damn darts again.

"Bastard…" he muttered, as the world spun.

Leah appeared above him, expression smug, and he would have kicked her in the face if he could have moved enough. "I thought I was a bitch."

"That too…bitch." Then the darkness claimed him again.

* * *

This time the disorientation was all but nonexistent when he woke, and Dean was quickly wide awake and seething—but it still took him a moment to realize that he was chained to a slanting metal table.

Oh, god. No wonder Sam hadn't given him any details. Maybe he acted it sometimes, but he wasn't stupid, and Sam knew it. Metal. Electricity. Sam would have known that Dean would realize that had to be making it worse. That was why he hadn't told him anything.

Dean swore colorfully, and though he hadn't spotted Leah yet he didn't care if she was close enough to hear. This had to have something to do with why Sam was getting so much worse so quickly.

The door off to the right opened, and Leah sauntered in confidently, smirking again. "Hmm…I must say, Dean, I was hoping I would get this chance."

He snorted, pulling at the chains to no avail. "And just why is that?"

"I hate passing up a chance to give another hunter what they deserve."

His eyes narrowed. "What?"

She stayed near the door, studying him again. "Sam did tell you, didn't he? I fully admit to killing the people who died here—to lure you to me."

"Yeah, he mentioned it. I wholeheartedly agree with him, by the way: you're not a hunter."

"No, I'm not."

Dean stared at her, not sure how to respond to that.

Leah glowered suddenly, and came closer. "I know what hunters do. I know about everything you hunt, and I know how to kill them. Sometimes_ I_ hunt things, for kicks. It keeps things interesting. But I am _not_ a hunter. Hunters…I hate."

And were Dean's senses fooling him, or did he detect maybe just the slightest hint of vulnerability in that statement?

Anything he knew, he could use against her—use to get Sam out of here. So he blinked at her curiously, trying to look vaguely interested. "Oh?"

"Hunters killed my parents," she snapped. "When I was fifteen, both of my parents were possessed by demons, and hunters killed them."

Oh, wonderful. A friggin' sob story. "Then you must not be as smart as you think you are, bitch; demons can't be killed." Well…not usually. But there was no reason to tell her that.

"They didn't kill the _demons_. They captured and exorcized them. My parents didn't make it."

Dean rolled his eyes. "That was hardly their fault. It happens."

Leah scoffed. "Of course it was their fault. My parents were no-one to them, civilians. I didn't know anything supernatural was real, until the week my parents started acting strange—the week they died. We were just another average American family, and the two hunters who came after those demons didn't bother to be careful. The_ hunters_ were the ones who shot my parents trying to capture them, who gave them the wounds they died from moments after the demons were gone."

He huffed. "I'm sure they tried to take them another way—but in case you haven't noticed, when it comes to demons sometimes the host can't be saved. It's not anyone's fault."

"Do I look like I care!" she snarled suddenly. She whipped around the table in three long strides, and bent to pick up—oh. Shit. Leah held two electrical clamps in her hands, trailing the wires that led down to a connected car battery.

"Hunters are hypocrites!" she shouted. She was nearly irate now, and he wasn't sure how she'd gotten there so quickly. Dean was willing to bet she was at least a_ little_ emotionally unstable—possibly just unstable period. He kicked himself for not noticing before. There had been so many signs…he realized now: The mood swings. The fact that she never made perfect sense.

Oh god what had they gotten into with this woman…

"The hunters that killed my parents? Fifteen minutes later they were trying to apologize for it, telling me they would find someplace safe for me to stay. I only went with them because I had no choice."

She sneered. "They left me with another hunter they knew—an older woman, semi-retired. She's…passed away, since then, but that's not important. I used my position to learn everything I could about hunting, about hunters—so I could make them pay. It gave me the advantage I needed, and when I was seventeen I left. I've been on my own since, and that's the way I want it."

Dean glared, covering the horror with disgust. "So that's the truth then? You're not a hunter; you're just some kind of sick freak?"

"I've been told I'm sick, yes—most of them tell me that at some point, before I kill them," she said, calmly now.

It all clicked into place. "That's why you want Sam. You think you can use him as some type of weapon—use him to further your twisted revenge."

"That's the general idea."

"Then what's with you knowing Gordon? What's all the crap about the greater good and you saying you buy into the idea that he needs to die?"

"Because it's all true." She leaned close. "I'm not completely off my rocker, if that's what you think. I care about the world, such as it is. I want to save people too—regular people, _innocent_ people—from what's one there…and from people like you."

"We don't kill people on purpose," Dean spat. "But you did, to get us here. You killed _three_ of those innocent people. Isn't that what you think those other hunters did to your parents? Isn't that what pisses you off? If you ask me, you're just as much a hypocrite as anyone else."

She glared. "The point is to save as many as possible in the long run. Aside from the possible personal gain, I did what I did to get Sam Winchester off the streets, to keep him from becoming a danger to any of those people. The hunters who let my parents die just weren't being as careful as they _should_ have been. _That_ is what I despise."

"That doesn't make what you're doing any more right," Dean bit back. "So excuse me if I don't buy into your shit."

Leah looked at him hard for a moment, and slowly the glare curled into a feral smile. "Fine. Enough with the commentary, then." She snapped one of the clamps onto a chain, just above his wrists, and circled to his other side. She squeezed open the other clamp and held it above his other wrist. Dean's chest tightened in apprehension, and he swallowed.

"Go ahead. See how much good that does you."

She actually laughed at that. "This isn't _supposed_ to accomplish anything; it's only supposed to be fun."

Dean had suspected as much, but his eyes widened anyway, and then he was deprived of the opportunity to respond when she secured the other clamp.

The déjà-vu was immediate, but the searing pain wasn't what he remembered. To be honest, he didn't much remember what it had felt like, last time. It had been too much, too quick, and then blackness. This he really _felt_, and it really _hurt_, and it wouldn't _stop_.

Every muscle in his body seemed to seize at once, and he knew that was textbook. Dean heard himself grunting loudly, sputtering, gasping out a series of tense groans, but he couldn't stop it. He pulled, jerked, with what control over his body he still had, but he couldn't escape it.

And then it stopped, and he was gasping, and this time he moaned on purpose.

Then it began again.

* * *

_You look so much like him…so much like him_, the voice whispered, close to his ear this time. A cold, gentle hand caressed his chest, deftly avoiding the bruises, and then stopped and pressed in, just a little.

_I couldn't save him_, the soft voice wept. _I couldn't save any of them. But perhaps…_

The thin hand pressed in a little more, and there was just the slightest bit of warmth. For a moment, that was all there was, and then suddenly he could breathe just a little easier.

But it didn't last long, and Sam was left awake and staring at the ceiling, wondering if it had all been a dream. Once _was_ just chance, a dream…could he have had it twice? Or was something more going on here?

Sam pulled in a breath carefully, noting that it wasn't much easier than it had been in the middle of the night before he'd fallen asleep. It still hurt. What time was it anyway…? Almost two…

Dean. Where was Dean?

He pushed himself up on his elbows and looked around, but he couldn't see his brother anywhere. "Dean?" he called. There wasn't much volume to the call, but it was enough to reach the rest of the basement. There was no answer.

Hooking an arm around his chest, he levered himself into a sitting position with the other, grimacing. His ribs still ached, too. "Dean…?"

Oh no…

He heard the door open, and he used the nearby stair rail to pull himself around so he could see up the stairs. Sam pulled himself up onto his knees and hung onto the rail so he wouldn't have to lean on the wall there.

By the time he was there, Dean was tripping off the bottom steps and dropping onto all fours on the concrete beside him.

"Dean!" Sam coughed and clamped a hand on his brother's shoulder as Dean sat like he'd landed—doubled over, gulping in air. "Dean?"

"'M okay, Sam." He gasped it, and yet somehow it sounded firm and final.

Not that it would stop Sam. Suddenly he felt nauseous, but he had to know. "She didn't—"

"Yeah," Dean breathed. Grunting, he pushed himself back up some, resting his hands on his knees now instead of the floor. Sam opened his mouth to offer some kind of apology, but Dean continued. "She was bored. It's okay…wasn't up there long." He moaned a little and leaned back on the steps, eyes clenching shut. "Ah, sh—"

Sam's jaw worked back and forth, and the hovering pain from his own injuries was temporarily forgotten in the sudden anger. "She said she wouldn't hurt you…"

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, if you actually cooperated…which you will _not_, by the way," he reiterated, holding up a finger for emphasis.

"I _know_ that."

Dean sat up again, still breathing hard. "Sammy, I'm fine."

Sam felt the tears stinging his eyes, and cursed them. "I know…" Once didn't matter. He'd been fine after once, too. But he'd counted on only having to worry about himself, physically. He'd counted on being able to keep Leah away from Dean, as long he went with her when she wanted him.

But what if she wouldn't? What if she was 'bored' again? What if Dean ended up in the same shape he was in? He couldn't let that happen. He couldn't let Dean be hurt, and besides…one of them had to be healthy to get them out of here. The thought that Dean might be in more danger was too much, and he had to fight to keep his breathing from escalating. He couldn't get air any faster than the slow pace he was pulling it in at now, and if his body tried he would be left gasping, and Dean would worry.

He didn't realize Dean had moved again until he felt his brother's hands on his shoulders. He looked up, and Dean was right in front of him, looking at him intently through eyes that were now damp and green.

"Sammy? Sam."

He blinked and focused. "What…?"

Dean swallowed and looked away, fingers digging into Sam's shoulders. "Is that really what she's…been doing to you?"

He winced. "I guess so."

Dean swore and let go of him, wearily scrubbing a hand over his face. Slowly his head began to shake. "No. Not any more."

"Dean, what can you do?"

He shrugged. "You know…keep her occupied. I can do it for a while, at least, until we can get out of here. I hate it, but we might have to wait for Bobby. We'll keep trying, but somehow I don't think we're getting out of here until we have some help."

Sam scowled. "Dean for one, I don't want you to do that—take my place—and for another…how do you know she would even let you?"

"I just do," he answered tightly.

"Oh yeah? How?"

"Drop it, Sam. I won't let her hurt you again. Conversation over."

He snorted, ignoring the fact that it hurt like everything else. "No, it's not. It's me she wants anyway; you're not doing that."

"Yes I am."

"I really don't think she'll go for that."

"_Yes_, she will."

"_Why_?"

"Because she already did!" Dean shouted, pointing up the stairs. "She was coming for _you _again, Sam. You were still sleeping. You couldn't breathe well; you couldn't _stand up_ on your own. You still can't. I couldn't just let her—" He broke off and looked away again. He grabbed the opposite rail and pulled himself to his feet, then paced shakily away from the stairs, shoulders hunched and tense.

Sam swallowed back the lump in his throat that was screwing with his breathing even more. "Dean—" he choked. "You didn't have to do that."

"Yes I did, and I'll do it again and again if I have to," he told him, stabbing a finger toward the floor in accent.

Now it was Sam's head shaking in denial. "Dean, no…" And he couldn't fight what was happening to his breathing any more. He felt his chest growing tighter and tighter as the argument dragged on, and his air came up shorter and shorter. He knew he should stop arguing, calm down so Dean wouldn't know. But he couldn't let this go. He wouldn't let Dean do it. He couldn't.

"You don't have a choice here."

"No," he protested again. But Dean had turned away again, and he sent back the same answer, over and over, and Sam couldn't protest anymore—he couldn't breathe for the panic that seized him.

Still holding onto the stair rail to keep himself upright—closer to hanging from it now—Sam's other hand fisted in his shirt over his chest as he tried to pull in air.

"Dean—!"

He only managed to gasp out the name once before his air was gone, and he still couldn't catch any more. He tried not to panic about that, too, but it was hard when everything was spinning.

"Sammy!" He heard the call faintly, and then he felt Dean beside him pulling his torso upright against the wall to give his lungs more room. He felt his cheeks being slapped as his brother demanded that he breathe, but he couldn't see anything now. He didn't know if his eyes were closed or if his vision had faded out.

Sam felt Dean's hands moving from his arms to his chest, to his face, and back again, sensed his brother's frustration in not knowing exactly what to do. Dean pounded on his chest a few times, not too hard—probably worried it would only do more damage—but it didn't do anything anyway. Sam only felt himself grunt…only felt it. He couldn't hear now, either.

_I'm going to die. Dean, I'm sorry_. It was the only coherent thought he had.

Then something pressed against his mouth, and air was pushed into his lungs—once, twice—and then they finally decided to do it on their own. Sam slowly, painfully, pulled in a breath, and everything began to fade back into place.

He heard Dean calling his name, a little less urgently now, felt another light slap to his cheek. "Sammy, come on."

Sam opened his eyes, somehow relieved that they had only been closed. He gradually focused on his brother, who heaved a sigh of relief when he realized Sam was looking at him.

"Thank god. Don't _do_ that to me, okay?"

He nodded once.

Dean sputtered and rubbed a sleeve vigorously over his lips. "Seriously, dude, don't _ever _make me do that again."

Sam made an 'ick' face, spluttered once or twice himself and immediately brought an arm up to scrub at his own mouth. "Point taken."

"Yeah…" Dean sighed and stared at the ground. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you'd get that upset over it; I didn't mean to—"

"It's okay." Sam coughed, "—s not_ your_ fault I almost died because if it."

Dean just winced, and both of them fell silent for a while. Sam focused on breathing, but he didn't know what Dean was up to. When his brother finally looked up again, his face was set.

"Okay, listen. Maybe we don't have to argue about this anymore. I might have another plan."


	5. Chapter 5

Here ya'll go! Enjoy! :) And I've got standardized tests this week and need some cheer, so make sure you review, too. ;) Lol, thanks ya'll!

Chapter 5

Sam coughed again, tightened his arm around his chest and winced, and probably thought Dean didn't notice. He did.

"So uhm…why didn't we try this before?" his little brother asked.

Dean shrugged from his own side of the stairs. Both of them had taken a side, just waiting, staying out of sight of the door. Leah was up there, moving the heavy cabinet away from the door again. She was coming.

"Because it's stupid, and it was too risky before. Okay, it's still too risky, but we don't have a lot of choice anymore. And just for review: I'm doing most of the work here. You're the distraction who is going to try his best not to get hurt; understand me?"

"Yeah…"

At least he was standing up, anyway. Dean hadn't been sure he could until a few moments ago.

"Boys? Don't be shy," Leah called from above. "It's time to play."

Neither of them said anything. It would let her know who was on which side, and right now her ignorance was to their advantage.

She sighed unhappily. "I'm not in the mood for games, Dean. Get up here now, or I'll come down there and take Sam myself."

Dean saw his brother glare in her direction, saw his jaw working, but thanked whatever was out there that he didn't move.

They heard the first step creak when Leah still received no answer. "Fine," she said coldly. "If you want to play it this way, I'm coming down. Just remember what I said about assumptions."

Sam looked at him quizzically, but Dean just shrugged. He listened, though. He wasn't planning to underestimate her again.

Leah descended carefully, but before the gun he was sure she held out came into view, a dark blur leaped past his eyes and then Leah was three feet from the stairwell, spinning to find them in her sights.

He had _not_ seen that one coming. The plan had been for Sam to move first catch her attention, and for Dean to grab her from behind—with some possible hand-to-hand combat involved before he finally had her down, considering how good she was.

Dean reacted quickly, lunging forward to get under the gun before she could aim. He managed to knock it from her grip and into Sam's flailing arms that finally caught hold if it, but in the close quarters Leah's foot shot up into Sam's chest before Dean could tackle her.

Sam grunted out a surprised cry of pain and dropped immediately, sending the gun skittering across the floor to land beneath the feet of the other two. Leah went for it, and Dean slammed an elbow up into her face. _Payback_, he thought smugly.

"Ah!" Leah's head went up and back, but her knee caught him in the gut. Dean staggered back, but by the time he'd recovered mere seconds later, Leah had the pistol. He reached for it, and barely managed to deflect the shot—but not enough. He felt the bullet scrape through flesh as it shot over his left shoulder. _Same damn shoulder_, he thought, even as he shouted.

There was no answering cry of alarm from Sam, and as he dropped to his knees worried eyes swept in his brother's direction. Sam was still on his back, and from here Dean couldn't tell if he was breathing.

"Sam—!"

The worry cost him his chance to try to get back up and take her by surprise. Almost before he had the name out Leah was behind him, one arm around his throat and the other holding the barrel of the gun to him temple. His cry ended in a gargle of protest.

Leah was hardly breathing hard. "Come on, Dean, play nice."

The bullet hadn't gone in this time, but the shoulder still hurt just as much, and he was already lightheaded. He couldn't fight her when she tightened the arm around his throat, cutting off his air. His good arm came up, scrabbling at hers, but soon everything was gray.

Just before he was sure he was going to pass out, Leah loosened her grip and jerked him to his feet and pulled him back toward the stairs. He had only enough energy to make his legs cooperate enough to follow where she was dragging, and he had no choice but to do it. If he didn't, the pull on his neck would stop his air again, and he really would pass out.

His shoulder throbbed, and his head spun, and he struggled to keep up enough to keep himself conscious, but suddenly—now that he had enough air to remember—all that mattered was his brother.

"W-wait! Sam—" he gasped. "Is he—"

"He's breathing," Leah snapped. She dragged him backward up the stairs, arm still around his neck to keep him with her, and pulled him back into the same room as before. In the middle of the floor she let go of him and let him fall.

Dean landed on his knees, rubbing his neck. He glanced warily at the table. "Fine, bitch. Let's get this over with."

For a moment she studied him in amusement, and if he could have stopped the spinning long enough to jump up right then and knock her on her ass, he would have.

"No," she said finally. "I'm rather pissed off with the two of you right now. Deal's off."

"What…?" he coughed.

She reached into a pocket of her jacket, and snagged his left wrist with her other hand. Twisting that arm sent waves of pain up through his freshly wounded shoulder, hazing out the world for a moment. Dean felt himself pulled a few stumbling steps over as he shouted, and then something cold snapped around the wrist she held, and she let go.

Dean slumped, landing against a wall that was suddenly beside him. He tried to pull the abused limb close to his body, but found he couldn't. His eyes opened immediately, and he saw the handcuffs now holding his left wrist to a pipe in the corner that ran ceiling-to-floor.

He scowled at them. "Those new?"

"No, but I only have the one pair, so they were useless before."

It wasn't until then that Dean realized what she'd meant a moment ago. His eyes ran from the table across the room, out the door toward the basement, and then back to Leah in horror. "No."

She shrugged and turned on her heal. Dean pulled at the handcuffs, but the pipe was strong and pulling hurt his shoulder. "Come on; I'm the one that attacked you!"

"Yes you are." She glanced back once to smirk at him, and he could see in her eyes that the decision had already been made. Then she was out of sight, already at the basement door.

The anger came first. Dean pulled and tugged and jerked, ignoring the pain and his own cries that came with it while he tried, straining against the bond as he called after her. "Damnit, get back here! You can't do that! You'll kill him; do you hear me?!"

Faintly, from downstairs, he heard Sam groan loudly as he was startled awake, heard his protested moans as Leah dragged him up the stairs.

"Let him go! Don't you dare bring him in here; I'll kill you! _I'll kill you_!" Dean shouted, before Leah even had Sam in the door. He was barely conscious, staggering at her side, pulling back weakly in a hopeless attempt at escaping.

"You do this, and he'll die!"

"Maybe so—but not if I can help it."

"Why risk it in the first place?!"

She dragged Sam to the table and shoved him back against it, catching one of his wrists in the chains before he could slide down. He started pulling on that, then, but his eyes weren't even open. His only protests were inarticulate grunts. In moments she had Sam secured.

The handcuffs and the pipe weren't giving way at all, and the anger was slowly giving way to panic. "Leah, damnit, listen to me! Don't do this!" He forced his voice to hold the anger, but he was sure the plea held an edge of weakness that he hated.

Leah left Sam on the table and turned to him with raised eyebrows. "Are you actually calling me by my name?" She smirked. "And are you begging?"

Dean glared fiercely. "I'll beg if it'll keep you the _hell _away from my brother!"

For a just a moment—a brief moment—she seemed to falter at the fire in his eyes. Maybe she was human in there somewhere…but in the end it wasn't helping now. She recovered quickly, and snarled right back.

"I'm sorry, Dean, but it won't. Hurting _you_ isn't the way to punish you." She pick up a plastic bucket that already waited on the floor nearby, and tossed its contents into Sam's face. "Rise and shine, Sammy!" she called, almost cheerfully.

Dean afforded her another glare for using the nickname reserved for_ his_ use, before focusing on his brother. Sam coughed and choked and sputtered for a moment, before he was fully awake and trying to orient himself.

"Sam?"

Confused eyes focused on him from across the small room. "Dean?" The confusion slowly dissolved into horror as he realized where he was….and that Dean was there too. "Dean—!" he gasped. The second call of his name was all fear and incredulity and dismay, and Dean's throat tightened.

"Sam, hang on. It'll be okay." He turned cold eyes on a smiling Leah. "Get. Him. Down."

"That's not on the table," she snapped.

"Then what is?" he replied, just to know what he was dealing with, he told himself. But…could he really stop her? Fiercely he pulled once more at the handcuffs, and the pain in his shoulder flared again. This time he really felt it, and a cry he couldn't stop tore from his lips and dropped him to his knees.

"Dean!" That one was weaker, and it was worry. He didn't need that right now; he needed to get Sam out of here. His free hand clamped over the wound, and he glowered up at Leah again.

Leah sauntered closer, careful to stay just out of striking distance. Over her shoulder he could see Sam pulling feebly but determinedly at the chains. Her voice dropped just low enough that Sam wouldn't be able to hear.

"Well there isn't much _you_ can do, but if you gave me your word you'd help me convince your brother to use his powers for me…I might not leave him up there as long."

His eyes strayed back to Sam now, who realized she was speaking to his brother. Tired eyes wavered, but he was shaking his head slowly. _Whatever it is, don't…_

Dean spit in her direction. "Go to hell, bitch."

Leah shrugged and wandered back to Sam's side, plucking the clamps from the floor—the ones that were wired into more than one battery. Sam was pulling away again already, but getting nowhere…and though he grunted, whimpered in protest, he said nothing. Somehow that hurt more than if he were screaming for her not to do it.

Dean was frozen dumbstruck with horror as she attached the first clamp, but once she had taken the first step toward the other side the spell was broken.

"No!" His shoulder hurt too much for him to bring himself to tug at the handcuffs again, but that wouldn't help him anyway. Still he pushed himself back to his feet, shouting. Sam wouldn't look at him. Leah wouldn't stop looking at him, smirking all the while. "Don't!"

Dean's heart split in two when Sam's resolve waned, just before the second clamp came down to complete the circuit. He sobbed Dean's name, and his eyes snapped around to catch his brother's for no more than a split second.

Then Leah had fastened the clamp in place, and Sam's eyes clamped suddenly shut as his face twisted in agony and his back arched away from the table.

"NO!" Dean screamed. It only took seconds to really understand why Sam was having problems with his lungs already. He remembered from that morning that it was hard enough to breathe when there was only one battery…remembered that even after a short time up here he'd been left achy and out of breath, just for a little while.

Now he could see Sam trying to breathe, and could see that he couldn't, no matter how hard he tried. His body twisted and jerked and against the table, and quickly his lips were turning blue.

"Stop it; stop it, he can't breathe!"

"I know," Leah answered calmly. She pulled the clamp off and Sam slumped, gasping, though the sound was more moan than air. It took him several seconds to drag in a breath, and his face curled in fresh pain when he did.

But somehow he still managed to speak.

"N-no," he gasped. "Don't…make Dean…stay…"

Dean had to fight around the lump in his throat to croak anything out, and he knew his eyes weren't dry. "Sam?" There were already tears on Sam's face when he turned his eyes to his brother, and Dean's heart almost stopped cold at what he saw there.

No. Oh god, no. Sam didn't expect to survive this.

He didn't want Dean to see him die.

Suddenly he didn't care if Leah heard him, or if she even understood what she was hearing. "Sammy, no—" he choked. "You're gonna be fine. It'll be fine. You'll be _fine_, you hear me?"

But Sam looked away again, turning his eyes to the ceiling and refusing to look at Leah, either. "Please," he pleaded weakly, tightly. "Please, just…just get Dean…out of here."

"Sam!"

"I can't do that; I'm afraid it would defeat the purpose of this exercise," Leah replied coolly.

Sam's eyelids slipped shut, and more tears leaked from beneath them. "Please…" he begged.

Her answer was to replace the clamp.

Sam screamed that time. It was short lived, but it hurt—hurt worse this time because he saw it. Dean saw his brother's muscles tighten and spasm, saw his head jerk back, and saw the tears that came with the helpless cry of distress. The scream died into a feeble sob that shook his chest and his useless lungs that wouldn't work for him with the current freezing them.

Dean felt the first of the tears on his own face, and reached up blindly to scratch them away as his jaw locked. "No…" he seethed. "No, no, no!"

Leah stopped it again, and again it took Sam agonizing seconds to breathe again. His chest shuddered with the effort. After Leah paused the third time, the halting, stop-and-start motion of his breathing never stopped, no matter how long she waited between.

Eventually Dean's knees gave out from under him and he dropped abruptly back against the wall and sank to his knees, hand covering his wound again. He couldn't shout anymore; his throat was raw, and it wasn't helping. "No," he repeated over and over, more quietly. "No, no, god, Sam…Sam…" he moaned.

If he'd been possessed of all his senses he would have stopped—wouldn't have given Leah the satisfaction. But his fractured consciousness wouldn't let him sit and do nothing while Sam was tortured. He would do something, no matter how weak. He would keep protesting even if she kept going and he _lost_ his voice, but he wouldn't do nothing. He lose his sanity and his brother altogether, if he did nothing.

Still there was that nagging voice in the back of his mind, John Winchester's voice, telling him more than once since childhood to watch out for Sam—to protect him. More than once his own conscience whispered the painful truth to add to it.

_Helpless._

Dean didn't pull out of that stupor until everything went silent. His eyes had not been closed, but they hadn't been seeing. They snapped into focus then, and realized that Leah had stopped—and that Sam wasn't moving. He wasn't breathing.

"No…" He struggled back to his feet and mustered another shout even as Leah went to revive him. "Sam!" It wasn't until then that he realized his face was damp, but he made no move to bother with that now. Not now.

It took too long, but finally Sam sucked in a shallow breath and his chest was moving again—still jarringly, but it was moving.

And Leah, damn her, went for the clamp again.

"Are you insane?!" he hissed, as near to hysterics as he would ever allow himself to become. "Just leave him alone!"

She didn't come back with one of her snappy replies. She only clicked the clamp into place one more time, and watched as Sam's breath caught in his chest and his body stiffened. His brow furrowed some too, but that was all that happened now. He had long since lost any remains of real consciousness. Dean only flinched, too exhausted to do anything more. His own eyes clinched shut in agony at his brother's pain, at his own helplessness.

But behind his eyelids he could still see Sam jerking and screaming, even though he wasn't now, and somewhere Dean found a reserve of anger that propelled him away from the wall and to the short length of the handcuffs, pulling again, lunging toward Leah in fury even though he knew he wouldn't reach her.

"Just leave him the hell _alone_, damnit!" he screamed.

Leah turned quickly and actually stepped back in surprise. Then she glowered and pulled the clamps off. Sam's body collapsed limply against the table again, and Leah circled back around to pull the first clamp off and drop them both to the floor again.

"He wouldn't last much longer, anyway," she answered haughtily. "And there's no point in killing him just yet, no matter how stubborn he is."

Dean wasn't looking at her. He was staring at his brother. "Shut up! He's not breathing!" The panic was back. What if she couldn't revive him this time? What if they'd lost him after all?

Leah's eyes rolled, but she went to work on him again. Dean didn't realize he'd been holding his breath into Sam finally pulled in air, and a rush of it burst from his own lungs. Leah waited a moment, making sure he kept breathing on his own, and then swiftly turned and headed for the door.

"Where are you going? You have to get him down!"

"Do it yourself," she spat back. She pulled something from her pocket and tossed it at his feet. He heard the metallic ping and realized it was the key to the handcuffs.

Dean went for it immediately, but his eyes lost it and he wasted precious seconds finding where it had skittered to. By then the door was closed, and he could hear Leah outside pushing the heavy cabinet out from where it rested by the basement door. He was sure she meant to put it in front of this door, to keep them in here for now—but he had to get to door before then. If he could do that, he could get through even if it was locked—he had to—and he could take her down.

He finally found the key and snatched it up, cursing his clumsy hands as he fumbled with it unintentionally. Until now he hadn't truly grasped the fact that he was trembling. Be it from anger or fear or exhaustion or a combination, it didn't matter. It was slowing him down now, as his hands shook while he tried to get the handcuffs open. The sounds outside were too close. He didn't have anymore time!

Finally the key slipped in and the cuff snapped open, freeing his hand. Dean lurched toward the door, slamming into it with his good shoulder. When that did no good he backed up and kicked. He felt one side of the door giving way, and realized Leah only had half of the cabinet in front of the door. He still had a chance.

With a furious cry Dean braced himself and kicked at the door again, and again. The wood of the half that gave cracked—audibly, anyway—and he heard the lock and latch creaking, but then the cabinet was all the way in place and his next kick did nothing. He rebounded back from the door, breathing hard. He stood staring at it for a long moment, glaring…until he remembered his brother.

"Sam." Drying his face quickly, he spun and rushed back to the table. Sam was still out cold, breathing barely deep enough for his chest to move at all. His damp shirt stuck to his chest as his hair clung to his forehead and neck, and his skin—much too pale now to offer Dean any consolation at all—was still covered in a bright sheen of sweat.

Dean kicked the loose chain loops from around his ankles, and gently went to working the metal cuff ends of the other chains from around his brother's wrists. It was hard to do without scraping the raw skin any worse, and he grimaced after he'd seen only the first one.

By then Sam was slipping down the incline, and Dean leaned into him to keep him up while he worked the other cuff off. Then he leaned back again and let Sam slide into his arms. "Easy, easy, come on…" he mumbled, though he wasn't sure who he talking to.

Dean fell back a couple of steps on purpose, to pull him over the stakes that held the table in place, and then he lowered both Sam and himself slowly to their knees. He had to hold on tight to keep him upright, and Sam's head lolled limply over his shoulder. The wound there ached, but it was dull now. It was only a surface injury, after all…and that didn't matter now, anyway.

Dean swallowed hard and buried his face in his brother's damp neck. "Sammy…"

He could feel Sam's chest rise and fall against his, still pausing when it shouldn't, still never rising enough. _Please…please…he has to be okay…_

He wanted to wake Sam up, make sure he was all right…but that part of him battled with the part that wanted to let him stay unconscious as long as he could—away from any pain.

Movement against his ear spared him the choice. A soft moan told him Sam was awake, and large clumsy hands came up to grip his shoulders from behind in a weak attempt at returning the embrace Dean had on him.

"Still…here…" Sam breathed after a moment.

Dean felt his eyes grow moist again, and held Sam close to keep him from pulling back and seeing it. He breathed an inward sigh of relief. "Yeah. Yeah you are, and you're not goin' anywhere, either."

For a long moment there was silence, and then Sam let go. He shifted, trying to sit up on his own, but it brought a gasp of pain that dropped him limp into Dean's arms again, grimacing.

"Sammy, what is it?"

An arm came up around his chest. "Definitely…something cracked…now."

"But she didn't…" He trailed off, making a face. _She wouldn't have had too. He was jerking around enough on his own, and the ribs were already bruised…weak…and maybe something had already cracked some._

Sam had twisted to the side when he slipped down again, and now he was only against Dean's good shoulder, leaning into it heavily. "Dean…" he began quietly. "If she does that again…"

"I know," he snapped, more harshly than he'd meant to. He felt rather than saw Sam wince, and he sighed. "I know…" They fell into silence again, and he had nothing to listen to but his brother's ragged, inconsistent breaths.

"Sam, seriously, are you getting enough air?" he asked finally.

"Barely," Sam admitted weakly.

Dean swore, and forgot that his brother could see his other shoulder now. By the time he looked at his again, Sam was scowling at the blood soaking his sleeve just around the wound.

"What happened?"

"It's just a scratch."

"She _shot_ you?"

He could see Sam getting angry, and he pressed a hand on his brother's chest to steady him. "Hey, she shot you too and you got it worse. Chill out, dude."

Sam tried to sit up, breath coming more harshly, but with the hand on his chest Dean pushed him back against his shoulder. "Hey, I said take it easy. You suffocate and go dying on me, and I swear I will kick your ghost ass."

He smiled just a little at that, and Dean took what he could get willingly. The momentary levity kept him from dwelling on the fact that he was realizing just how fragile Sam was now. A wrong move, if anything upset him…he could stop breathing. How was he supposed to get him out of here like that? Still he came back to the center of the problem: Leah. There was no way around it now; he would have to take her out first, so he could get Sam out of here as carefully as possible.

They probably wouldn't be able to avoid the hospital now, either.

Sam's smile disappeared as he doubled over, coughing, and somehow had the energy to cry out when that hurt him.

"Sam! God…" Dean pulled him up again, and eyed the wall. "Come on…over there." He stood up slowly, and dragged Sam backwards like he had down the stairs. He thanked something that this time it was a flat surface that didn't hurt him so much, and that the room was small.

It didn't take long to get him propped up in the corner, and the walls were a lot sturdier than Dean himself at the moment. Sam let his head drop back against the painted drywall. "You sure your arm is okay?"

"Yeah. It's fine. You just get some rest, okay?"

Sam just snorted and pulled his arms around his chest again.

Dean settled himself against the wall beside him. "Hey, at least _try_."

He closed his eyes reluctantly, but in moments he was sound asleep. Dean knew he would probably need to keep an eye on him, but for now…

He got up and wandered back to the table, kicking at the stakes. He was sure he'd noticed something, getting Sam down…

There. A couple of them were loose. Dean bent down and pushed at the stake on one end, wiggling it back and forth until it popped out of its hole. There wasn't a whole lot he could do with this, usually, except throw it at a ghost, but maybe now it could serve a different purpose.

Dean walked up beside the table to the window, examining the piece of plywood there and the nails that secured it over the window frame. He searched around the edge, looking for a place where the wood didn't quite meet the frame. He found one soon; it wasn't a perfect job, not meant to be watertight against weather. It was only supposed to keep them from breaking the window and getting out.

He supposed Leah hadn't expected them to get that creative.

"Sorry to disappoint," he muttered irritably. He shoved the tip of the stake in the gap and used his good arm and as much of the other as he could to start levering at the plywood, fueling his work with his anger. To his satisfaction, it didn't take long for the nails to begin to slip back up through the thin, slick wood of the painted window frame. It wasn't something he could have done with his hands, and it would still take some time to get the plywood off…but this could work.

Dean was going to do his job if it was the last thing he ever did—and with no ghosts here, his only job right now was to take care of Sam.

That meant getting him out of here—soon.


	6. Chapter 6

Thanks so much for the reviews! I always look forward to them; all of you are great. :) So here's another chapter for you! Enjoy, and have a great week. :)

Chapter 6

Bobby Singer was not one to worry. He didn't need to—not about the Winchester boys, anyway. They had both long since proved that they could take of themselves. So he didn't worry when they didn't return his call right away. He didn't think anything of it until it had been more than two days, and he had heard nothing back from either. Even then, he wouldn't have worried so soon if he hadn't known they were supposed to meet him the next day.

The last he'd heard, Sam and Dean and been headed for Mississippi to investigate a house haunting before meeting him in Ohio. It should have been a routine case, and at least one of them should have had plenty of time to pick up the phone.

It didn't take long for Bobby to decide that if he hadn't heard from them by morning, he would head south instead.

* * *

Dean gave the stake another shove out, and smiled a little when two more nails gave way and began to slide out. He had most of them loose now, but for the ones at the top. Of all the times for Sam and his longer legs to not be healthy enough to help…

Dean pried at the plywood for another moment or two, and then dropped the stake and went back to Sam. He couldn't stay away for long, even across the room. That was why it had taken a few hours just to get that much of the window's covering free…because he really hadn't had much of a chance to work on it. Soft moonlight filtered in from under the wood now, and around the edges.

He settled back against the wall beside his brother, listening to Sam's uneven breaths. It was a channel he was already too well attuned to, because he had to be. He couldn't relax, and he could _not_ let himself sleep.

Sam's life could depend on it.

As he thought it, Sam's breathing stuttered and stopped. Dean tensed, hoping for the faltering start that usually came next.

This time it didn't.

Dean swore and pushed off from the wall. He took Sam by the shoulders and pulled him out flat, down to the floor. He leaned over him, waited another moment, and when he still didn't start breathing again he let out another curse and went hurriedly to work, pushing air into Sam's lungs and doing chest compressions. The last time Sam had been conscious he'd given Dean a refresher course in CPR, just in case—consisting of nothing more than a short explanation in fractured sentences.

He'd needed it too many times since then. It wasn't funny anymore.

It scared the hell out of him every time—all three times since then—and Dean wasn't sure how much more of this either of them could take.

Dean couldn't help but sob once, quietly, when Sam finally took a breath again this time, though it wasn't any different than any time before…

Except that this time Sam gasped and opened his eyes for the first time in hours.

Dean started a little; he hadn't expected that. "Sammy?"

Sam blinked at him uncertainly.

"Hey…long time no see." He slipped an arm under his brother's shoulders and gently pulled him up again. He would have leaned him back into the corner again, but Sam seemed to realize what had almost happened. He clung to Dean's other arm, shivering now, and Dean sighed, settled against the wall himself and pulled Sam back against _him_ instead.

"Dean…" he gasped. "I think…I'm in trouble."

There was no questioning _that_ now. Dean held onto his brother and swallowed. "It'll be okay. I've almost got that window open. You don't even have to climb through it; I'll go around, get Leah out of the way, and then we can just waltz right out the front door, okay? We can get you some help. Just hang on."

Sam nodded weakly. "You should go then…"

"Well I don't have to go right this minute; I can, you know, stick around over here for a while…" He felt Sam push back almost imperceptibly closer at that, though when he heard his brother's answer he supposed the movement must have been subconscious.

"I'll be fine. Just…go. We need to get out of here."

"Amen," Dean sighed. But he didn't want to go. He knew Sam wanted him to stay right where he was, and he knew that he wanted to—wanted to sit right here, holding Sam…feeling him breath, knowing from second to second that he was alive…

Because every minute he wasn't right here was another minute when Sam could stop breathing. When he left to take care of Leah…

But if he didn't take the chance, he would lose Sam anyway.

Better to get it all over with.

Dean broke the lingering silence, carefully pulling Sam away from his chest again to settle him back against the walls. "Okay…but you stay awake for now." When Sam was settled he gave him a stern look in the eyes. "Understand? You'll be fine if you stay awake until I get back."

Sam quirked a weary eyebrow at him. "Dude, I heard you the first time."

Dean let out an uneasy breath and clapped his shoulder lightly. "Right."

He jumped back to his feet, wincing because he'd forgotten his shoulder, and went back to the window. He had to stand on his toes, and at one point get a foot on the window sill behind the edge of the table, but he managed to get at the top of the plywood and pry those nails out of the window frame, too.

"Okay…" he mussed. The nails were all loose, but still sitting in their holes, still holding the board over the window. With the table leaned against the bottom of the window, he couldn't grab both edges of the plywood from either side. In the end he carefully worked all the nails out, pulled from the bottom, and slid the board down the table until it rested against the floor. Then he lugged the piece of plywood out of the way altogether, leaning it against the next wall.

"Got it," he said brightly, rubbing his hands together and glancing over to check on Sam. His brother managed to straighten some and give him a smile.

"Then get going…I can smell Bobby's cooking already."

"Such as it is," Dean smirked.

Sam chuckled once, coughed three or four times, and Dean was afraid he'd done something wrong in making a joke of it. But then he stopped coughing and settled back into the corner against. He was grimacing, but he was okay. He was still breathing.

"Sorry…" he muttered anyway, fiddling with the window latch.

"—t's okay," Sam hissed quietly. "But you're…still a jerk."

Dean felt himself smile and choke up at the same time on that one. He growled low in his throat to clear the lump, and covered it with the creaks of the window as he opened it—only the window made more noise than he wanted it too.

He flinched and froze in place, but after several moments there was still no sound from outside the room. He breathed a sigh of relief and went back to crouch in front of Sam.

"Okay, I'm going," he announced quietly. Dean tossed a thumb over his shoulder. "Listen, if I'm not back in an hour, you…you gotta get out that window, get to the car, and get outta here."

"Dean—"

"Do not stop, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. You get back to town, find a phone, and get an ambulance for yourself. Then call Bobby. You hear me?"

"But I—"

"You can, if you don't have a choice. I know you can. Just promise me you will."

Sam scowled. "Not without you."

"If I'm not back in an hour, there is no me," he snapped bluntly. Sam grimaced and looked away.

Dean smiled reassuringly and rested a hand briefly on his brother's knee. "But hey, that's just a worst-case scenario. Seriously. I'll be right back."

"You'd better," Sam muttered gruffly.

Dean stood from his crouch, tousling Sam's hair on the way up. "I will. Don't worry. Now stay awake, okay?" Sam swatted his hand away, and answered with a tired nod. Dean crossed to the window, and glanced back again. One of Sam's hands was already twisting into his shirt again.

Dean felt a flash of panic. "Don't worry," he repeated, more forcefully—but trying to keep it light, just the same. "No worrying. You don't know what the word worry _means_."

Sam glanced up at him, and the quirk at the corner of his mouth told Dean he wanted to laugh a little at that, too. He didn't, but both of them knew that was better than if he had. It was enough to know he wanted too. The hand in his shirt released its vice grip on the fabric.

"I feel stupid having to just sit here…" Sam admitted quietly.

"Hey, we've all gotta sit out sometimes," Dean assured him. Granted, he didn't like it, either…but he supposed it was the truth.

Sam shrugged a little. "Good luck…"

Dean gave him a mock salute. "Be right back," he reiterated. With that he swung a leg up on the inclined table, gripped the window frame with the hand on his good arm, and pulled himself up onto the window sill. The grass was only three or four feet or so below, and he dropped easily to the ground. That didn't stop it the impact from jarring his shoulder though, and he was glad Sam couldn't see him double over and catch his breath from the wave of pain he was rewarded with.

When he could see straight again, Dean crept around the side of the house, looking for a side door. He found one that led into the kitchen, unlocked….He supposed that if Leah had them now, she had no reason to keep the doors locked to the outside anymore. There was no more reason to present the illusion of a sealed, abandoned house.

Still, he was wary of the ease of it.

Dean stood just inside the kitchen, listening. Through the open door into the hallway he could see the cabinet of shelves that blocked the door that led to the room he'd just come from. To the left would be the door to the basement…so he needed to go right, search the rest of the house.

When he heard nothing, he stepped silently out into the hallway. From there, the stairs were to the right, and to the left farther ahead was the passageway to the living room and, presumably, the front door—the foyer they'd been ambushed in.

There was a closet under the stairs, and it seemed as good a place as any to start looking at least for the things Leah had taken off of them. The closet was locked.

_Bingo_.

Dean went back to the kitchen to search for something to pick the lock with. Except for the basement and the room he'd left Sam in, the house was still fully furnished and full of belongings, as if it really hadn't been touched since the owner disappeared. Maybe there had been no-one left to come for the stuff.

Rifling through kitchen drawers wasn't an easy thing to do quietly, but after several long minutes of patience he scored an old package of paper clips that _might_ do the job. He snatched a couple and went back to the closet. It was trial and error without the tools he was used to—he hadn't done it old school in a while—but finally he managed to keep the flimsy metal straight long enough to click everything into place.

Dean shoved the paper clips in his pocket and quietly opened the closet

"Jackpot," he whispered, grinning to himself. In a pile on the floor lay his rifle, the EMF meter, th lock pick, and few more of their odds and ends that had been on them yesterday morning when they'd 'arrived' here.

He picked up the rifle, checking to be sure that the rock salt rounds were still in place. They would have to do; he couldn't risk going out to the car. He didn't know where Leah was, and she could see him if he did. Anyway…he didn't need a gun to take her out. Dean retrieved another thing or two from the pile, leaving the rest to bring back to the car later, and went in search of Leah.

The living room and foyer were empty, as were the only downstairs bedroom and…the downstairs bathroom. Dean's stomach turned when he saw the ropes that had been left on the floor.

He got out of there quickly, and crept up the stairs. From what he could see, there wasn't much up there…only a couple of bedrooms and another bathroom. But Leah had to be in one of them.

All of the doors were closed, and Dean stopped silently at the top of the stairs, listening again. It took a few moments, but finally over the sound of the crickets outside he managed to pick out the sound of even breathing in the room to the left. He clicked the safety off on the rifle, held it ready in one hand, and carefully turned the doorknob in the other.

Leah was in there all right, still fully clothed and sprawled on her back on top of the bedspread of full-sized bed against the right wall. Her gun lay a few inches from her hand. Dean swallowed, leveling the rifle at her as he went closer, wishing for a moment that he had real bullets. He could end this now—no fight, no nothing. He felt the anger burning in his gut, and he wanted to. He wanted to kill her right then and there.

In another moment, he might have found a way to do it if she hadn't woken up.

Leah saw him immediately and went for the gun, but he held his own up higher. "Don't even think about it!"

She smirked at him, but she stopped moving for the gun. Instead she only sat up slowly, raising an eyebrow. "What are you going to do? Shoot me?"

"My brother is down there fighting for his _life_ thanks you. Give me one good reason why I _shouldn't_ blow your head off right now," he snarled.

"One? You can't. There's nothing in that gun but rock salt."

"Oh really? Willing to bet your life on that?"

Leah answered by grabbing for the gun on the bed.

Dean answered by firing.

Leah shrieked and dropped back onto the bed, rolling onto her side and writhing in pain from the small puncture wounds the rock salt left when it embedded itself in her skin. "Bastard!"

"Takes one to know one."

He expected her to be angry enough to go for the gun again, and he planned to get to it first. What he didn't expect was for her to come at him without it.

She was up and under his guard almost before he'd realized she'd moved. He took a hook to the jaw, and her momentum brought them both to the floor. Then she was going for _his_ gun, and Dean found himself locked in a stalemate over it.

Both of them managed to roll up onto their knees, but they both had both hands on the rifle, and neither of them was going anywhere else just yet. She wasn't quite as strong as him in brute force, but with his sounded shoulder they came down to a nearly even match.

Leah's eyes were all fire, and she sneered to see him sweating. The strain was hurting his shoulder, and she knew it. Already she was trying to put most of her force toward his left side.

"You know what I didn't tell you before, Dean?"

"With no due respect, I really don't care," he growled.

"They weren't just any hunters, the two who killed my parents. One of them was your daddy, Dean. Sorry about him, by the way. And the other one? Maybe you still keep in touch. His name was Bobby Singer."

Not that it _bothered_ him, but the surprise was enough for his injured arm to give way. Leah used the opportunity to slam the butt of the gun into his forehead, but she didn't get enough force behind it to knock him out. Still he landed on his back, but he recovered quickly enough to throw her when she tried to get on top of him. Then Dean had her pinned.

"If it was our dad, and you're so big on revenge, then why haven't we seen you around before?"

"I wanted plenty of practice before I got around to them. Unfortunately, John's already dead, but once you and Sam are taken care of, there's always Bobby."

"You really can't make up your mind, can you? Greater good and revenge, using Sam to further the revenge or taking revenge _on_ him…I really hate it when people can't make up their mind."

"You must hate yourself then," she shot back, almost with delight.

Dean snorted. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You don't know what you would do if Sam really did change—if whatever's different about him controlled him someday. You don't know if you would be able to do what would have to be done," Leah taunted.

He pressed a forearm into her throat. "Shut up!"

She choked and coughed, and he found it only fitting considering what she'd done to Sam—but she was fighting too hard. He wouldn't be able to hold her long enough even to knock her out.

Dean shoved off of her with the arm in her throat, choking her enough to keep her disoriented until he could grab the gun from the bed…he hoped. He spun and grabbed for it…but no such luck. Leah came up on her knees and grabbed him around his, tripping him and bringing him down on his face in the carpet.

"Ow!"

By the time he'd groaned and turned over, Leah was standing over him with _her_ gun—the loaded one he'd been trying to reach.

"I'm sorry, Dean, but you're just too much trouble. I'll tell Sam you said goodbye."

Dean snapped his legs out and tripped her in return just as she fired, missing the bullet by inches. He grabbed the dropped gun and staggered to his feet, backing out toward the stairs. She followed him, faster, running him back into the stair rail and grappling for the gun.

It went off.

Dean heard Leah grunt, saw her stumble backward, wide-eyed, and then she dropped back and tumbled down the stairs. He heard a sickening crack between the thumps, and knew that if the bullet hadn't killed her, she was certainly dead now.

He swallowed and went back into bedroom to collect his rifle. He left Leah's gun on the floor. Slowly he descended the stairs, looking for any chance movement. There was none. The unnatural angle her head was tilted at the wide, empty eyes told him all he needed to know.

Dean stood there for a long moment, for some reason unsure of what to do. He hadn't _really_ meant to kill her…exactly...but then again, they hadn't killed Gordon, and look where it had gotten them. He shouldn't have listened to Sam then. This was better. He nodded a few times, to make himself believe it. Sam wouldn't be happy…but it didn't matter. He would be safe.

Sam.

Finally Dean heard the faint cry of his name coming from the other side of the cabinet. "I'm coming, Sammy!" he called. He hurried up to the cabinet and shoved—couldn't shove fast enough. Closer now, he could hear more from inside. He could hear Sam gasping, and with dread knew that his brother hadn't listened to him…hadn't managed to stop worrying.

"Dean…"

There was a heavy thud from the other side of the door.

"Sam!"

He shoved the last inches of the cabinet out of the way and pounced on the doorknob, but something was in his way on the other side, too.

It was Sam.

"Crap, Sam!" He slid through the opening he had and dropped to his knees beside his brother, who was hanging on the doorknob on the other side, gasping, with a fresh sheen of sweat that failed to cover the fact that he seemed to have grown paler even since Dean had seen him last, and his free hand clutching at his chest again.

"Dean," he sobbed weakly.

Dean pulled him into his arms. "I told you not to worry!"

"Heard…heard gunshots. I was…afraid you…"

"Sam, shut up. Save the air. We're getting you out of here."

He calmed down, but it didn't seem to get any easier for him to breathe.

"Dean—" he grated out.

"I know, I know. Shit…"

Somehow he managed to ignore the pain from his left shoulder, get Sam over his good one, and get out to the car in only a minute or two. Dean knew it hurt Sam, too, but right now his only concern was keeping his brother _alive_. He settled Sam into the passenger's side and ran around, pulling out the only other two thing he'd grabbed from the closet earlier: his keys and his phone.

The phone was off, and he turned it on again as he climbed in and started the Impala. The phone switched on showing half a dozen missed calls from Bobby.

Sam spoke up again as he pulled furiously out of the gravel driveway.

"Leah—"

"Is dead. And don't give me that look; it was an accident, okay? Now be quiet, and just…just keep breathing, okay? I don't know where the nearest hospital is yet; you've gotta stay with me until then."

He nodded once or twice, and curled up against the door.

It was nearly a full ten minutes before they were back in Mize—a town that was really nothing more than a crossroads and the gas station where Sam and bought their breakfast almost 48 hours ago. Dean squealed to a halt in the nearly nonexistent parking lot, and pushed his door open. "I'll be right back."

There were two workers behind the counter, and one customer in the short aisles when he burst through the door. "Where's the nearest hospital?" he demanded immediately.

All three of them stared.

"Where!"

The closest women behind the counter recovered first, and answered in a heavy Mississippi accent. "The one in Laurel'd be better, but if you're lookin' for close, that'd probly be Magee. It's pretty much a straight shot from here. Just keep headin' thataway. It's twenty-five miles 'er so," she said, pointing down the highway in the direction they'd been going.

Dean only nodded in thanks before he was out the door again, back in the Impala, and pulling out onto the road again. He didn't give anyone time to ask question; there wasn't any time for questions.

"About thirty miles," he said, before Sam could ask. "Just hang on."

Sam gagged between gasps of air, and Dean reached back to snatch a water bottle from the back seat and toss it on his lap. "Try to drink some of that."

His hands shook, but he managed to get the cap off and get some of the water down without choking on it all. He tried to hand the bottle back to his brother, but Dean wanted Sam drinking as much of it as he could. He grabbed his own bottle, glad to finally have his tongue unstuck from the roof of his dry mouth.

Having his thirst quenched to some extent seemed to help Sam relax a little more at first, but in the end it didn't help him. His breathing only got worse, and even though Dean yelled at him to keep him awake he lost consciousness again somewhere around ten miles out. Still…as long as he was breathing at all, Dean wasn't going to stop.

His cell phone ringing cut into Dean's pounding head, and he remembered the messages from Bobby. His shoulder was throbbing, and he was barely able to pull it out with that arm, but he got the phone to his ear. It was number he'd hoped to see.

"Bobby?"

"_Dean? What's wrong? You sound like shit_."

"I _feel_ like shit. We're in some_ deep_ shit. Where are you?"

"_On my way to Mississippi because I couldn't get a hold of you_."

"Thank god. We're on our way to the hospital in, uhm, Magee. Magee, Mississippi. Can you meet us there? What are you doing on the road this late anyway?"

"_I was going to wait until morning, but I got a bad feeling. I'll be there in a few hours. Dean, are you sure that a hospital is the smartest idea right now_?"

"Sam can't breathe, Bobby! I don't have a choice!"

He heard Bobby swear on the other end of the line. "_What happened_?"

"Long, long story, but I'm gonna lose him if I don't find this place right _now_…" He was passing into the town now, looking for signs. He knew his voice had shaken some, on that last sentence, but he didn't have time to worry about it now. Sam was still unconscious, and his breaths were coming farther and farther apart, shallower and shallower.

He pounded on the steering wheel. "Where's the damn hospital!"

"_Dean, the first thing you have to do is calm down_," Bobby told him firmly.

"I _am_ calm," he growled.

"_Not when I can hear you hyperventilating over a few hundred miles of airspace, you're not. Take it easy. You won't be able to find anything like that_."

He hadn't realized he was doing it until Bobby pointed it out, and he forced himself to calm down. It wouldn't help if he passed out, too. Finally, a sign pointed him in right direction, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"It's down here. I gotta go, Bobby. I have to get Sam inside…"

"_All right. I'm still on my way. Call me later if you can_."

"Yeah." Dean snapped his phone shut and shoved it back into his jacket, only just now remembering that he hadn't picked up their wallets. There were spare credit and insurance cards here in the care somewhere, but he didn't have time to dig them out now. Well…it was an emergency room. They could wait for that stuff.

The parking lot lights of the hospital gave him enough illumination as he pulled in to see that Sam was turning blue.

"No, no, no…" He slammed on the brakes in the very next spot in the nearly deserted lot, and his door couldn't get out of the way fast enough. It seemed to take forever to run around the front of the car, and suddenly the front doors of the emergency room seemed too far away.

Dean pulled open the passenger door, leaned in and slapped Sam's cheek roughly, trying to bring him around enough to make him focus on breathing until they got inside. When Sam's eyes flickered Dean pulled him out of the car, grateful he'd never buckled him in—but he was still heavy.

"Come on, Sam, work with me!" he grunted.

He didn't realize someone inside had noticed them until two young men in scrubs sprinted out the doors and took Sam's weight. Dean didn't know if they were nurses, paramedics, or doctors, but he knew they were there to help. A woman followed them and took his arm.

"H-he can't breath," Dean explained at her questioning look, before she could ask. "Don't ask me what happened; it's a long story. Just help him...he's my brother…"

By the time the nurse had him to the doors, Sam was already on the gurney being ushered through to the back. He went to follow, but the woman held his arm.

"Sir, you would only be in the way back there. Let them do their job. They'll take care of your brother."

Dean ignored her and tried to pull away again, forgetting about his shoulder. He gasped and staggered, clamping a hand over the wound. He didn't know if it was his shoulder, or the lack of food and water and sleep…but suddenly everything was spinning.

"Sir, you're hurt, too," the woman said. He couldn't see her anymore, but she sounded a little alarmed.

"Dsn't matter…" he slurred. "Sam…"

Then Dean was greeting the floor again.


	7. Chapter 7

Here ya'll go. :) You were right; this story is _far_ from being over! So anyway, enjoy this chapter; can't wait to hear from you! Thanks again for all the wonderful support. :)

Chapter 7

It was just past noon Thursday morning when Bobby found the hospital Dean had directed him to, and he hadn't heard anything since. It was enough to worry him, and he couldn't get the car parked fast enough

As he strode into the lobby, Dean was coming in from the other side, back through the double doors that led out to the rooms. He was class only in his jeans, boots, and a t-shirt that all looked like it needed a good washing, and his freshly shaven face looked a little more than annoyed.

"Bobby!" His expression smoothed out when he caught sight of the older hunter, and Bobby met him halfway across the floor with a bear hug.

"Dean! Thank god; you worried me, not answering your phone again."

Dean winced, pulling back from the embrace and rubbing at a lump under his left sleeve. "Yeah…sorry. I was kind of, uhm, unconscious until just know." He pulled his phone out of his pocket, frowned at the missed call messages, then deleted them and shoved the phone back in.

Bobby's eyebrows went up questioningly.

Dean saw him looking at the shoulder he was rubbing, and stopped. "It's just a scratch; the bullet didn't even go in this time."

"Uh huh. Then why were you unconscious?"

"No, seriously, it didn't go in. It's not bad. I just…" he trailed off and grimaced again. "I guess passing out kinda happens when ya go two days without food, water, or sleep."

"And are ya gonna explain how that came about, or leave me wondering?"

"It's a long story."

Bobby crossed his arm authoritatively. "Then at least tell me why you're not getting some sleep right now."

Dean snorted. "I just woke up!"

A nurses scrambled through the doors and swiftly made her way to Dean, looking a little distraught. "Sir, are you sure you're all right? It would really be better if you stayed here under observation for a day or so—"

"Look, lady, I already checked myself out. I'm not staying in there. I'm fine."

The small woman huffed. "If you can call exhaustion, dehydration, malnourishment, and a bullet scrape wound _fine_."

"I've had worse then this, and the last few hours I spent out in a hospital bed hooked up to IVs took care of everything else."

The nurse rolled her eyes, turned on her heel, and walked away. Dean's stomach chose that moment to gurgle loudly, and Bobby couldn't but smirk.

"Okay, I could use some real food too," Dean admitted. He glanced back toward the inner doors anxiously. "But I can't leave."

Bobby sighed. "How's Sam?"

Dean's hands balled into fists at his sides. "I don't know. They haven't let me see him yet. All they've told me so far is that he's stable for now. I mean, _for now_? What the hell does that mean?"

"What happened to him, Dean?" Bobby asked gently.

Dean looked at him a moment and looked away, eyes misting over. "Don't wanna talk about it," he muttered, jaw clenching. "Just some bitch with apparently nothing better to do than bother _us_."

He blinked, analyzing that. "Some_one_ did this to you?" he asked, pitching his voice low to avoid anyone overhearing.

Dean shrugged wearily. "Yeah…she was some kind of hunter-gone-wacko. She said she knew you. Name was Leah."

The name came out like a curse, and Bobby scrounged his memory for a reference. It took a moment for it all to come back. "Oh my god," he gasped quietly.

Dean looked up again, quickly, looking Bobby in the eyes. "So you did know her? Was she who she said she was?"

Bobby nodded slowly, a sick feeling in his gut. "I wondered what had happened to her. Your dad and I hunted a couple of demons once—hosts were her parents. We tried to take them alive…" He sighed heavily.

"Leah seemed harmless enough when we left her with a friend of ours; we didn't think she held such a grudge about it all. It only took two years for her to learn everything she thought she needed to know. Then she killed Karen and split. I haven't heard anything of her since."

"There's nothing left to hear." Dean lowered himself into a stuff chair against the wall. "She's dead. It was an accident, but…" He glanced up at Bobby, eyes glistening again. "If you'd seen what she did to Sam…" He groaned and let his head drop into his hands as his elbows rested on his knees. "God, Sammy….If anything happens to him…"

Bobby swallowed. "Dean, I'm sorry. We should have been more careful, back then…I…"

Dean shook his head, though it was still down in his hands. "Don't even start with that. This isn't your fault."

Bobby would have said something, if he hadn't noticed the middle-aged doctor making a beeline for them. He nudged Dean, who stood as soon as he saw the man.

"Well?"

The doctor glanced from Dean to Bobby. "Who is this?"

"It's my uncle," Dean said without hesitation. "He needs to hear anything I do. How's my brother doing?"

Bobby read the nametag—Bennett—and asked a question of his own first. "Have the boys given you any insurance information yet?"

Bennett blinked, and then glanced into the folder he was carrying. "Uhm, no. That was another thing that needed to be taken care of, but I was going to get the receptionist to handle that later."

Bobby glanced at Dean. "I'll get it. They're both covered under my insurance, since their parents passed..."

Usually Sam and Dean used their own forged credit cards and insurance, but from the beginning both of them had always been covered by John's fake insurance as well, just in case. Since their father's death, Bobby had taken on that responsibility—to make sure they were taken care of. All still under fake names, of course, and fudged ages when it was necessary to keep them covered.

"Bobby—"

"I've got it," he repeated.

Dean sighed and turned back to the doctor. "What about my brother."

"He's still on a respirator, but he's stable right now. There were two cracked ribs, and they should both heal nicely…"

"What about his heart? Is his heart okay?" Dean demanded.

Bobby winced to himself, remembering what he had heard of the incident more than a year ago. He watched the doctor warily; something in the set of the man's shoulders was making him uneasy, and he could see that it was having the same effect on Dean.

Bennett hesitated. "His heart is weak, and it was unsteady for a little while there, but it's evening out now. If we put him on meds, we should be able to forego a pacemaker."

Dean scowled. "You mean…it _was_ damaged?"

"To some extent, yes."

He swore quietly. "But it's not gonna like…give out or anything…right?" he continued with difficulty. Bobby put a hand on his good shoulder, squeezing maybe a little too hard.

He couldn't help it. These boys meant as much to him as if they were his own.

Now it was the doctor who looked uneasy. "No. It's shouldn't, but…unfortunately, that's not the real problem."

"Then what is?" Dean asked apprehensively.

Bennett sighed. "It's his lungs. I'm afraid they took the brunt of the damage."

"Meaning what?" Dean prodded, steel in his voice. Bobby knew that tone—the _don't-drag-this-out_ tone—and the doctor seemed to take the hint as well. Still Bobby kept the hand on Dean's shoulder, because suddenly he knew neither of them was going to like what came next.

"It means that even though your brother will have recovered enough to be off the respirator in a few days, the damage itself can't be repaired," Bennett answered gently. "His lungs were put under too much strain, and they're never going to come back from that—not completely."

Dean swallowed. "What?" He wasn't getting it—not immediately—but Bobby already felt his eyes stinging.

"They're going to fail," he said quietly, and looked hard at the doctor. "They're going to fail, aren't they?"

"I'm afraid it's only a matter of time," Bennett answered, as Dean stared at him dumbly. "If he takes it easy and stays on oxygen, at least at night, and takes breathing treatments…it could be months, even a year or two…but I'm afraid that's all I can promise. There's nothing else we can do."

Bobby swallowed hard, glanced uneasily at Dean. The kid wasn't looking at him, and he wasn't looking at the doctor, either. "Where is he? I want to see him," he deadpanned.

Bennett sighed and gave him the room number, and Dean shrugged Bobby's hand off and disappeared through the doors without a word or a single glance back. Bobby would have followed him if he hadn't already known it would do no good right now.

He wanted to see Sam too, but he let Dean go, knowing he needed the time.

* * *

Dean picked up speed on the other side of the doors, and didn't stop until he jerked to a halt when he realized he'd overshot his target. He slowly backtracked to Sam's room, hesitating just inside the door.

His brother looked small and pale from here—a frightening contrast from his usual brightness and the fact that he was really a tall, gangly freak of nature compared to Dean's average height.

It didn't make him feel any better, either, to see the IV lines and the mask over Sam's mouth and nose…and the tubes that connected it to the machine that was breathing for him, making sure he didn't suffocate as he nearly had so many times before they'd gotten here.

It all brought back uncomfortable flashbacks from the crash. That had been him then, and he was loathe for either of them to be in this situation again.

Dean pulled a chair from the wall to move it beside the bed, and he sat down in jerky movements, never letting his eyes leave his brother. He leaned over the edge of the bed, and couldn't help reaching up to comb his fingers through Sam's now stringy hair. He pushed it back from his brother's face and pulled his hand away again, gulping back the lump in his throat.

"You're gonna be fine, Sammy," he whispered. "I don't care what any damn doctor says. I mean…what do they know, right?"

He didn't know that his head had dropped onto the edge of the bed until he felt the hand on his shoulder. He jerked up again, straightening in his seat, but relaxed when he saw that it was only Bobby.

"Oh…hey."

"Hey," Bobby nodded. "I gave them the insurance. You're both covered now." He hesitated. "Listen, I know you don't want to talk about this yet, but Dr. Bennett filled me in on what Sam's going need…the uhm, the medicine for his heart, and the equipment…for his lungs. I just wanted you to know that I'm taking care of that, too."

Dean blinked. "Bobby, really; you don't have to do that."

"Dean, I've actually got the money to pay the insurance for it, and the last thing you boys need is more legal trouble. Let me handle this."

"Bobby…" He trailed off. "Thanks." Then he turned back to Sam, and his resolve hardened again. "With any luck, we're not gonna need that stuff long anyway; then you can sell it back, and _none_ of us'll have to worry about it."

There was silence for a long moment.

"So…just what_ are_ they saying he's gonna need, anyway?" Dean asked painfully, after a moment.

"An oxygen generator, for one, and it'll have to be one small enough for you two to lug it around in that car of yours. Besides that, there's the medicine, and a smaller machine—a nebulizer for the breathing treatments."

Dean snorted. "And if he_ didn't_ do all that stuff?"

"Once he's off the respirator, he wouldn't last more than a couple of weeks without it all," Bobby answered quietly.

He groaned and let his head drop back into his arms on the edge of the bed for a moment. "It's friggin' déjà vu in reverse, Bobby. What the hell is wrong with our luck? Why is this happening to us again?" He blinked tears away, and his voice dropped. "Why does it have to be Sam this time?"

Bobby only squeezed his shoulder, and when Dean looked up he realized that the old man's eyes weren't dry, either.

"Do you need anything? Still hungry?"

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, but I don't think I'd eat it." He shivered.

"Where's your jacket?"

He wracked his brain, because he wasn't sure of that himself.

"The basement," he said finally. "It's back in the basement at that house in…Mize or Taylorsville or whatever the address actually is…the one where we were headed to investigate that ghost? It wasn't a ghost. It was her. That's where she jumped us," he complained, absently rubbing his neck at the memory.

"Some of our other stuff is there too; that's why I didn't give them our insurance before. I never picked up our wallets from the stuff she took off us. I was trying to get Sam here…the rest of it's all still under the stairs on the first floor."

Bobby nodded. "All right. Do you have the address? I'll get your things for you."

Dean patted down his pockets, finally finding the scrap of paper in the last back pocket he searched of his jeans. "Here." He glanced at it. "Oh excuse me; the address is Raleigh," he smirked, looking for any excuse at humor.

Bobby raised an eyebrow at him and took the paper. Then he pulled off his jacket and handed it to Dean, who looked at him questioningly.

"It's cold in here, but it's gettin' pretty warm out there. I won't need it before I get back."

"Oh…okay." He didn't make a big deal of the gesture—but he did pull the coat on right away. Bobby headed for the door, but at the last moment Dean grimaced and followed him out into the hallway.

"Bobby, uhm…"

"I'll need to salt and burn Leah's body; I know," he answered quietly.

"Right…uhm, it's at the foot of the stairs…"

Bobby nodded, then reached into his own pocket and pulled a ten from his wallet. He pressed it back into Dean's hand. "I'll bring back something better, but it'll be a few hours. You go down to that cafeteria and get something to eat before I get back, all right? Sooner rather than later. You need it, even if you don't want it."

"But—"

"Sam's gonna need you when he wakes up, Dean, but you won't do anyone any good if you're still half starved."

Dean sighed and stuffed the bill into his pocket. "Fine. Thanks." Bobby nodded and made his way out toward the lobby again, and Dean went back to his brother.

He wasn't ready to leave yet, even long enough to eat.

* * *

Bobby had barely gotten on the road before his mind was reeling.

_Sam…_

His hands gripped the wheel tighter, and his jaw clenched hard. Who was it that saw fit to put those boys through so much?

He felt the tears in his eyes, but he blinked them away. There was still hope, wasn't there? There had to be. He wouldn't believe otherwise, and he knew Dean wouldn't, either.

What he worried about was how Sam would respond when he woke.

* * *

After three or four hours, Dean's stomach complained enough to force him down to the cafeteria. He didn't eat much, but it was enough to quiet the noise. Still, he was nauseated by the time he got back to Sam's room, and questioning the wisdom of Bobby's advice.

Bennett's words kept pounding through his skull over and over, no matter how many times he told himself that they would find a way to fix it.

_It's his lungs. I'm afraid they took the brunt of the damage._

_I'm afraid it's only a matter of time…could be months, even a year or two…but I'm afraid that's all I can promise. There's nothing else we can do…_

_Afraid it's only a matter of time…_

_Only a matter of time…_

_Could be months, even a year or two…_

_Could be months…_

_Months…_

_Months._

Months!

Dean let go of Sam's wrist hand and lurched out of the chair, barely making it to the toilet in the bathroom off to the side before he threw up all of what little he'd eaten. He quickly grabbed the sink and pulled himself back to his feet, but stumbled and ended up leaning into the wall.

He rammed an elbow back into the wall—once, twice, four times—and let himself drop forward to hang on the doorframe as he caught his breath. He stared across the room at his brother, at Sammy, and the string of profanity that had been streaming through his thoughts was given quiet voice.

"Why, huh?" he called, glancing up and around at no-one in particular. "Why him? Why does _he_ have to worry about something like this? He never did any of the stupid stuff I did to deserve this crap…"

Dean stumbled back into the chair and leaned forward to clamp a gentle hand over Sam's wrist again. He stared intently at his brother's face, willing those eyes to open. "Damnit, Sam. Wake up. Tell me it's all a mistake and you feel fine."

* * *

Late that afternoon, when Bobby returned to the hospital, he found Dean asleep in the chair beside Sam's bed, arms wrapped tightly around himself in the borrowed jacket that was much too big. Bobby sighed and woke him with a slight shake of his good shoulder. Dean didn't jerk awake; he only blinked a few times and opened his eyes in confusion.

"You know, there's an empty bed over there if you wanted to sleep."

Dean shrugged groggily and pushed himself to his feet, but if Bobby's eyes weren't fooling him the boy looked downright shaky. Before he had a chance to scold him, Dean clamped a hand over his mouth and bolted for the bathroom. Bobby grimaced as he leaned over the toilet, heaving nothing but air and stomach fluid. He wasn't in there long, but he was paler when he came out, arms clamped around his middle and leaning heavily on the bathroom doorframe.

"Dean?"

Still ever himself, Dean looked up and smirked a little. "Maybe we should investigate the cafeteria ladies. That must have been some epically bad meat."

Bobby crossed his arms.

"Seriously, I'm fine. I just picked the wrong entrée."

He sighed and shook his head. "No, you're getting sick because you're still weak. You need some real food in you."

Dean tossed a thumb over his shoulder. "Well that's what happened last time I tried the whole food thing."

"Just because it was served in a hospital doesn't mean it was the best thing for you." He headed for the door again. "Come on; I've got cold sandwiches and coke in the car. That ought to go a little easier on your stomach."

He looked to Sam. "But—"

Bobby went back and took him by the arm. "I don't think he'll wake up in the next half hour," he said gently. "Come on."

Dean hesitated, but finally nodded silently and followed him out. "What I _need_ is a beer," he muttered.

"Not yet you don't."

* * *

There was mostly silence as Dean sat in Bobby's car and both of them ate. He had to admit that the sandwich did go down a lot better than the poorly cooked burger from the cafeteria. The nausea faded as he filled up, and it was one more instance to chalk up on the list of things Bobby was right about.

The silence still hovered even as they fished eating and crumbled their trash into the takeout bag. Dean settled back into the unfamiliar passenger seat.

"Bobby…what are we gonna do?" he asked quietly.

The older man glanced at him. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "I mean…when Sam wakes up, 'cause…" He grimaced. "I'm not lettin' some doctor tell him he's gonna die when I have no intention of letting that happen."

Bobby sighed and stared into the distance. "We have to let the man tell him what condition he's in. We can't hide that; it's the truth right now."

"I know…" Dean trailed. "But I mean couldn't we like, you know, talk to him first? Before the doc says anything? He needs to know we're gonna fix it. He needs to know to doesn't mean anything."

"Of course it means something, Dean. I don't like it any more than you do, but right now, Sam…Sam is dying. That's going to be true _until_ we find a way to fix it, and you can't change that." Bobby hesitated. "And we have to be prepared for the possibility that we _can't_ fix it."

Dean sat up quickly. "No. I'm not talking about this. He'll be fine."

"Dean—" Bobby's eyes were misted over now, and it wasn't helping his own composure any.

"Just tell me if we can do that. We can talk to him first, right?"

Bobby nodded slowly. "Yeah…we can do that."

Dean snapped one nod in response and climbed out of the car.

* * *

Dean passed out in the next bed that night, and the next day was more of the same—waiting. Nearly two days had passed, and there was no change. On the second night Bobby finally convinced Dean to use the motel room he'd already paid for.

"I slept there last night, so I'll stay with Sam tonight. You go get some rest," he'd said—ordered. When Bobby got like that, there really wasn't any saying no.

Dean woke Saturday morning to his cell phone blaring at him from the nightstand, and the clock told him it was almost noon. He sat up immediately, ignoring the twinge in his shoulder and cursing himself for oversleeping as he snatched up the phone.

"Yeah?"

"_Dean, hey. I've got good news. They were able to take Sam off the respirator this morning; they're saying he should wake up soon_," Bobby reported.

Dean was already out of bed and looking for pants. "I'll be right there."

* * *

Sam's eyes blinked open on bland white ceiling tile, but he didn't have the energy to panic. In the end he had no need to; in seconds a blurry Dean was leaning into his line of sight, and he felt his brother's hand on his arm.

"De'n?"

"Hey…" Dean said, smiling just a little. "What took you so long?"

The breath he took alerted him to the thin tubes resting just inside his nose, feeding him oxygen that made it much easier to breathe than it had been before he'd passed out last. On the sides of his face he felt the ends of the tube that held them there. Now that he thought about it, he could feel the tape holding an IV in his arm.

Hospital. He was in a hospital.

Oh god, it had to have bad….

"Long…?" he croaked. All that spurred was a small hiccup of a cough, so he supposed that was a good sign, anyway—except for the fact that it still made his chest ache.

"You've been out for a couple of days."

It was another voice that ha answered his question, and Sam forced his head to turn to the left enough to take in the older man standing there.

"Bobby," he smiled. "Good to see you…" Suddenly he realized that his voice was barely audible, but even though he tried, the next sentence didn't come out any louder just yet. "What happened?" Translation: Why had Dean risked bringing him to a hospital.

His eyes shifted back to Dean, who wasn't smiling anymore. He wasn't frowning either, but he was _trying_ to smile—and failing. Somehow that worried him.

Dean finally gave up, and grimaced. "I couldn't keep you breathing. We barely made it here," he admitted.

"Where's here…?"

"Magee, Mississippi," Bobby answered.

Dean nodded. "About fourty miles from where we were."

Sam blinked a few times, and then stared at his brother. "I…barely made it fourty miles?" he questioned uneasily.

"Hey, you're alive," Dean told him, a little more earnestly than Sam thought was necessary. "How are you feeling?" he asked, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

Sam winced, and took stock. The oxygen made it easier to breathe, but the action still wasn't without its discomfort. His chest ached, and he could feel the bandages wrapped tight around his ribcage. Something had to have been cracked, at least. He tried to move, and the bruises that were still there sent a jolt through him.

"Ah! Ah…not so good." He thought that was all that gave Dean the suddenly worried expression—until he realized just how white his brother's face was. Dean's gaze was focused on the hand Sam had pressed over his chest when his cry had sent a stab of pain there.

"Dean?"

Dean snapped out of it, focused on him again. "What?" he asked, almost shakily.

Sam frowned and glanced back to Bobby…who was trying to hide the same expression Dean had been wearing a moment ago.

"Guys…what's wrong? Dean?"


	8. Chapter 8

Hey ya'll! I'm headed for the fam's house for a couple days or so, so I wanted to get another chapter up in case I don't have time to write while I'm there. So I hope you enjoy this chapter; I hope to hear from you! Thanks so much! :)

Chapter 8

Sam watched Dean and Bobby exchange uneasy glances.

"Sam…" his brother protested.

"No, Dean, what is it?" he demanded. "Is something wrong with me?" Dean's head ducked, and it was Bobby who answered.

"It's your lungs, Sam. They were damaged…and it's pretty bad."

He felt Dean's hand tighten on his shoulder along with the sudden tightness in his own throat. "How bad?"

Bobby winced, hesitated a long moment before answering. "The doctors are saying that without a transplant, they'll both fail within a year or two."

What? Oh god…that was why it had been so damn hard to breathe. Sam fought back the panic; he knew it wouldn't help him breathe now.

"So…I'll get a transplant. Maybe the recovery would take a while, but if it's the only option…"

Dean huffed out a pent-up breath from his other side, and Sam looked back to his brother. Dean jaw was tight now, his eyes damp. "We're working on that."

Sam swallowed and frowned again. "There's something else, isn't there?"

His brother nodded miserably. "Your heart's weak, too. They won't even consider you for a transplant unless you're receiving both the lungs and a heart, and finding a match for all of it is a little harder, I guess, 'cause it all has to be done at the same time, and I don't even know if you're on the list yet. Bennett hasn't let us know."

"Bennett?"

"Your doctor here."

"Oh…" He stared at the ceiling, not sure how to feel. "So…so what do we do?"

"We do everything we can to get you on that list, we take care of you, and in the meantime we look for some other way to fix this. You're gonna be fine, okay? One way or another, you'll be fine," Dean answered intently.

Bobby's hand came down gently on his other arm and squeezed. "We'll do everything we can, son."

Sam only nodded weakly, because suddenly he didn't seem to have the energy to do anything else.

* * *

It wasn't long before Bennett was alerted that Sam was conscious, and the doctor showed up to check him over and explain everything in more detail.

He told Sam his ribs were healing just fine, and then explained everything else. He explained about the oxygen, and the breathing treatments, and the heart medication. Bobby watched on silently, never leaving Sam's side. Dean stood across from him, his hand never leaving his brother's shoulder. Dean looked to be listening attentively, for any sign of hope, while poor Sam listened but seemed to wish he could shut his ears and drown it all out.

"So what about a transplant?" Dean asked finally. "Have you checked that out yet? He can qualify for that, right?"

Bennett flipped through the folder in his hands. "Well, the…sketchy financial situation, for lack of a better term, is a bit of a complication, but there are ways to work around that. Otherwise, his age and the severity of his condition are working in his favor. I think I can still justify having him put on the list for a heart-lung transplant immediately. Of course, I can't promise anything beyond that..."

The doctor closed the folder and tucked it under his arm, then looked at Sam. "Until a donor becomes available, all we can do is keep you as healthy as possible, but if what I've seen is any indication, I think you can count on these two to see to that," he smiled, motioning to Dean and Bobby.

Bobby watched Sam smile a little at that; it made him feel better to see it.

"Yeah," Sam said quietly. "I can always count on these guys."

Bennett nodded. "I thought so. Just hang in there. As far as time goes, we're still running the blood work on all of you. A live donor transplant is still possible if you all check out. The one good lung could give you a few more years, which unfortunately might be needed waiting for a full transplant through this system," he sighed. "Anyway, the results should be in tomorrow. I'll let you know."

"Thank you," Bobby nodded.

The doctor bowed out, and Sam was silent until he was gone. "What was he talking about?" he asked after a moment. "About the blood work?"

"For live donors giving lungs, it takes two people to donate enough tissue for one lung. They'll only let each donate one lobe, a half a lung," Bobby explained. "Both your brother and I sent in blood work to see if we're compatible."

Sam stared at them, wide-eyed. "Guys, even if that worked, it would lay us all out. Bobby, you said yourself that there's a storm coming. We can't afford to—"

"If it keeps you alive, it doesn't matter," Dean cut in quickly. "We're not the only hunters out there, you know."

Sam seemed to gather that arguing with his brother would be useless, and Dean sat down again in the chair by the bed. Bobby took a seat on the other bed, watching fondly as Dean's natural tendency to fool around helped Sam relax while the brothers fought over the television remote.

He couldn't help but wonder what those two would ever do without each other.

He hoped more than anything that this wouldn't end badly.

* * *

When they both grew tired of the afternoon television, Sam asked for his computer. He was sitting up anyway, because the nurses had finally convinced him to eat something, and he seemed to be doing all right that way, so Dean reluctantly agreed. While he was out in the car he picked up John Winchester's journal as well.

Sam frowned at him a little, when he settled back in the chair with the book, but he didn't say anything. Bobby went back to the motel soon after that, and Dean moved to the other bed. He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until he woke up to the thunder outside the window, sprawled on his back with the journal open on his chest.

Dean sat up slowly, setting the book aside as he stretched his spine and rubbed his eyes. He scowled at what he saw when his vision cleared.

"Sam? Dude, I didn't bring you the computer so you could forego sleep."

The tray attachment was still swung up over Sam's legs, and his computer was plugged in and sitting there as he stared at it. Sam settled back farther against the pillows and shrugged.

"I was asleep for two days, Dean."

"No, you were unconscious for two days. There's a difference." He flinched as a peal of lightning lit up the dim room like the noonday sun, and the thunder that came soon after nearly hurt his ears. The rain was pelting the window in thick sheets, and he was almost sure he heard sleet pinging into the glass amongst it all.

"Damn, that's a storm."

"Welcome to south Mississippi," Sam deadpanned.

"We're smack in the middle of tornado alley, aren't we?"

"Well, not technically in the middle, but—"

"Sam."

"Yeah."

"Great…I hate havin' to worry about those things."

Sam glanced over and smirked. "Why would you be afraid of a tornado?"

"Dude, if I don't like flying how do you think I'd feel about gettin' tossed up in the air _without_ the huge metal thing around me?"

He looked like he wanted to laugh at that, but then his eyes strayed back to the web page his computer was on, and his expression soured.

Dean frowned. "What is it?"

"Nothing…"

"Nothing my ass. That's your I'm-freaked-as-hell-but-not-telling-you face. What's up? Spill it."

When Sam didn't answer he got up and tried to get a look at the web page, but Sam shut the laptop. "Hey…Come on, Sam, what is it?"

Sam visibly gulped and looked away, picking absently at the bandages around the cuts and burns on his wrists. It was a long moment before he said anything as Dean stood, anxiously, waiting.

"In any given year _hundreds_ of people die waiting for the kind of transplant I need," he said slowly, painfully.

Dean grimaced. "I know...I kinda figured."

When Sam looked at him again, his eyes were damp for the first time since he'd woken up. The shock had worn off. "Dean…I'm scared."

He swallowed hard, ignoring the tightness in his chest. "Don't be." He swung the tray out of the way and sat on the edge of the bed facing his brother. "I am not gonna let anything happen to you, no matter how any of this goes down. Why do you think I'm going through that thing again?" he said, pointing to the journal that lay on the other bed.

Sam glanced that way for a moment. "If there were anything in there I would have found it when _you_ were sick."

"Sam, that thing is packed _full _of scribbling. There's _always_ something we could have missed."

Sam focused on him again, blinking back tears. "Dean, dad _wrote_ the thing. If there were anything in there he wouldn't have done what did; if he'd known of another way to save you, he would have taken advantage of it."

Dean huffed, choosing not to go into that particular open wound. "People don't remember everything they write," he protested.

"Dean—"

He held up a hand to silence Sam, and then took his brother by both shoulders. "Listen a minute, okay? You never gave on me, Sam, with the whole heart thing_ or_ after the crash, so don't expect me to give up on you. I won't give up until you're safe and healthy and we're back on the road hunting that yellow-eyed bastard, you hear me?"

Sam looked at him for several moments before he nodded, sobbing once.

Dean sighed. "Come here…" He slid closer and pulled his little brother to his chest, holding Sam's head under his chin. "It's gonna be okay. I'll make it okay. I promise."

"Don't make promises you don't know you can keep," Sam muttered miserably.

Dean couldn't respond to that, but he held on tighter, and as his eyes clenched shut he cursed the single tear that slipped free into his brother's hair.

* * *

Both Winchesters had just finished the light breakfast Bobby brought in when Bennett returned the next morning, scowling at a new edition to the ever-present folder. Dean shoved himself from his chair as Bobby turned to the door expectantly.

"Hey, what is it? How'd the blood work come out?" Dean asked anxiously.

Sam was already sitting up again, but he leaned forward some to listen. He only winced a little when he did it, so…well, maybe that was a good sign.

The doctor let out a breath and shook his head. "To begin with, only you matched in blood type," he said, nodding to Bobby.

"Wait, _I'm_ the one that didn't match?" Dean scowled. "That doesn't make any sense."

"It's perfectly normal to not have the same blood type as a sibling."

He snorted. Wasn't that just brilliant? He couldn't help his own brother. Damnit! He felt his fists clenching, and noticed Bobby trying to catch his eye, but he ignored it. He didn't need sympathetic looks right now.

"But that's not relevant; we wouldn't have been able to do a transplant even if you both _had _matched in blood type."

Dean blinked in surprise, and then scowled at him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Bennett looked at Sam now. "It's your blood work. Your blood type isn't abnormal, but it seems you have a rare antigen that's extremely hard to match. It's only shown up recently, really, usually in patients about your age or so."

Sam licked his lips nervously. "So what does that mean for me?"

He sighed. "It's properties are like nothing the medical community has seen before. Unfortunately, one side effect causes the body to reject any transplant not from a specifically matching donor—though that we weren't even aware of for the longest time. No one with this new antigen had been given any type of transplant until last year. There were two cases: one was only a heart transplant, and one was a heart-lung, but…both had passed away from complications within a week. "

Bennett looked at them apologetically. "Since then there has only been one successful transplant, between a patient and donor with this same antigen. The good news is, that means we know that a matching donor with the antigen will be compatible. The bad news, of course, is that there is no way to know if such a donor will become available in time."

Sam stared the doctor for a long moment, and then looked away. Dean watched his brother warily, his own heart pounding hard in his chest. This couldn't be happening…

"So…I'm still on the list, but you're saying there's not much chance…because of this…whatever-it-is in my blood," Sam said slowly.

"An antigen. It's a type of marker; you might call it a sub-type."

"Right. So…?"

Bennett nodded once. "Yes, I'm afraid that's what I'm saying. I'm sorry…"

Now it was Sam who nodded once, and Dean kicked and screamed inside to see the expression in his brother's eyes shutter off. He exchanged a panicked glance with Bobby and ran after the doctor when he left.

"Wait, wait!" he called, stopping the man in the hallway. Bennett turned. "Wait…are you sure? I mean, isn't there another way? Something else we can do? Or, you know, isn't there some way to get around that anti-thing?"

"I'm afraid not. Now that we know the danger of it, labs are only just now beginning to really experiment with it. Perhaps in a few years some kind if treatment will develop, but…that would be too late for your brother."

His fists curled tighter; he could feel his short fingernails biting into the skin of his palms, but he didn't care. "So you're saying the only way you know of that he's going survive more than another year or two is if he gets a transplant from someone with this exact same…marker or whatever?"

"As well as the same basic blood type, yes."

"Damnit…"

Because Sam was right; the chances of finding a supernatural way to fix this were just as slim. Dad wouldn't have sold his soul if there were anything else he thought he could have done.

Dean furiously gulped back the lump in his throat. "So…how much longer does he have to stay here?"

"I would recommend another week, at least. The equipment he'll need once he leaves has already been applied for, and we'll make sure you have it and know how to use it before he goes."

He nodded silently.

Bennett sighed again. "I truly am sorry we can't do more for him."

Dean only shrugged, but he had to force himself to just walk away. Even though he knew, intellectually, that this wasn't Bennett's fault, part of him wanted to wring the man's neck—force out of him something, _anything_, maybe an admission he'd been wrong, or missed something, or that there was _something _else that could be done…

When he got back to the room Sam was still staring straight ahead, unmoving. Bobby was pacing the floor on the other side of the bed, and he didn't look up. Dean moved to his brother's side and sat beside him, hoping to jar him into some kind of motion.

He would have counted himself successful, if he'd only wanted Sam to talk.

"Something that's shown up recently in people my age…properties they've never seen before…Do you think it could have something to do with my powers? Could it leave a marker in my blood like that?" he whispered.

"I don't know," Dean sighed. "But that's my only guess right now."

"It's the only explanation. We could all have something in our blood; me and all of the children like me."

"But why the hell would that screw with something like transplant compatibility?"

"I don't know any more than you do…" He trailed off and looked away. "I'm going to die, aren't I?" he choked quietly.

Before he knew what he was doing Dean had spun around, fisted his hands in the front of Sam's hospital gown, and shoved him hard back against the pillows. "Don't you ever say that again! You are not going _anywhere_ if I have _anything _to say about it! You can't say that; do you understand me!"

"Dean!"

That was Bobby's voice, cutting through the haze of anger and making him hear through the buzzing in his ears. It wasn't until then that he realized Sam had wilted in his grasp, gasping in pain, and now that he was listening again he could still hear his brother's shout echoing in his ears.

Dean let go quickly and backed away, wide-eyed. Sam sank down on his side in the bed with a moan, with a hand to his chest as he focused on carefully pulling in the oxygen from the tubes in his nose.

"Sammy…?" he asked weakly. There was no answer and Bobby came up behind Sam and clamped a gentle hand on his shoulder until his breathing evened out again. After another moment his eyes flickered open, and Dean sobbed dryly.

"Sam, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"-t's okay," he grunted quietly.

"No, it's not."

Sam grimaced.

Bobby seemed to gather that the boys needed some time to themselves, and he quietly stepped out. Dean hesitantly sat down again, in his chair, and ran a hand anxiously over his face.

"I just—I'm not giving up," he reiterated. "Not Now. Not ever."

"I know…that's why you're my brother." Sam held out a hand, and Dean stared at it for a moment before he took and squeezed it.

"So we're good?"

Sam smiled softly. "Yeah. We're good."

* * *

Thursday afternoon marked a more than a week since the Winchesters had first pulled into the hospital parking lot, and Dean was growing restless. Sam's equipment had arrived the afternoon before, and Dean and Bobby had both been with a nurse all morning as she explained what Sam would need, and how to use the equipment.

Apparently someone else had been explaining the same things to Sam. When they got back to his room he'd seemed more depressed than usual, and when he'd mentioned that someone had been in to explain everything, it was obvious why.

None of it was helping any of them forget Sam's condition. Listening while the woman told them how to put the medicine into the nebulizer for the breathing treatments, and how to maintain and use the oxygen generator, when to use it, when to give Sam the breathing treatments, and watching the delivery guys load the equipment into the back seat of the Impala…

It was all one big slap in the face that told Dean that nothing was going to be exactly the same—not until they fixed this. _Maybe not ever._ But he pushed that thought away before it took root.

He and Bobby were at lunch now, in the cafeteria because they hadn't wanted to leave the hospital with Sam being down like that, but not in his room because he had all but made it clear he would rather have some time alone.

"So…where are you boys headed once Sam's released?" Bobby asked eventually.

Dean shrugged. "We haven't talked about that."

"You haven't?"

"No…"

"You could stay at my place for a while," he offered.

To be honest, that sounded perfect to a good part of him—while the rest of him wanted to hit the road immediately in search of some way to help Sam. Finally that part won out.

"I don't know; we need to start looking." Bobby knew what he meant.

"That's true, but it would be better if Sam stayed put."

"You want me to leave him there by himself?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Not by himself; with me, you idjit."

Dean's face must have suddenly looked even scarier than he though it did, because Bobby quickly backtracked.

"Or you two could stay there, and _I'll_ go out looking. I'll help any way you want me to. I want to see Sam healthy as much as you do, but we both know he'll have a better chance if he stays put somewhere and takes it easy. If we're going to be looking for a way to help him, I don't think we can all stay together on this. One of us has to stay with him. We could take turns…"

Dean already felt his shoulders tightening into a hunch as he thought about it. Things really were changing. This was going to be a lot more complicated than he'd let himself think about yet.

"Yeah…maybe."

"You should talk to Sam," Bobby said gently.

"I know," he grumbled.

Sam was leaning back, staring at the ceiling when Dean made it back to the room, but he sat up when he noticed his brother was there. "Hey."

"Hey." Dean shoved his hands in his pockets and ambled over to the side of the bed, but he didn't sit down this time. "We uh, we need to talk."

"Yes we do."

"We do?"

"You said it first."

Dean shook his head in confusion. "Look, Bobby thinks we should go to his house from here." He rocked back uneasily on his heels. "I think I agree with him. Maybe you should just stay there."

Sam looked at him strangely. "You think _I_ should stay there? What about you?"

"Well, me sometimes too. I guess Bobby and I'll take turns going out for a while. We're not gonna find a way to get you better sitting on our asses."

He sat up a little straighter. "I know that. That's why I don't want to stay at Bobby's. I want to come with you."

"Sam, you know I wish you could, but—"

"But what? That stuff is portable enough to haul in the car; why should we go together?"

Dean let out a tense breath. "Because the doc said you'd have more time if you took it easy! Besides that, you need to be somewhere close to a hospital, in case they call. You know that."

"Yeah. I know it," Sam answered, staring straight at him.

"Then why the hell is there even an argument here?"

"Dean…" He let out a slow breath between pursed lips, and looked away for just a moment. "Dean, I don't want to spend the next year or two of my life—maybe what's _left_ of my life—sitting around waiting for something that might not happen. I want to keep going. I want to hunt; I want the yellow-eyed demon dead, and we can't do that if I'm sitting at Bobby's place and you're only concerned with looking for something you might never find."

It wasn't what he wanted to hear. He didn't want to hear that Sam was dealing with this better than he was, or that he really might lose his brother. He didn't want to hear it, didn't want to think about it—didn't want to consider anything that would give Sam any less than the most chance he had of surviving.

"We can hunt the demon when you're healthy."

"They're saying I'll be healthy enough for regular activity soon—maybe nothing strenuous, but I'm not an invalid, Dean. There's no reason I can't go on the road like before."

"That's the point, Sam; it's not like before. Hunting _is_ physically strenuous sometimes, in case you haven't noticed. Maybe you'll be able to walk around and act normal all you want, but that doesn't mean you'll be able to handle our usual gigs."

"Why not? I can be careful."

"It doesn't matter how careful we are; something always happens."

Sam glared. "Dean, I can't just twiddle my thumbs. I won't."

Dean glowered right back, turned on his heel and stalked toward the door. "I'm not having this discussion."

"Dean—!"

He heard his brother shout after him—even heard the faint gasp of pain that followed the outburst—but he didn't stop. If he'd stopped, Sam would have heard the sobs that broke from his throat.


	9. Chapter 9

Since I was gone a couple days I wrote a nice long chapter for ya'll. :) I hope you like it! I hope you'll let me know what you think. Have a great day!

Chapter 9

The sudden movement from the other bed jerked Bobby awake, thanks to years of training himself to be aware of his surroundings even during sleep. It was a useful skill, when one was a hunter.

He sat up quickly, almost reaching for the rifle by the bed out of habit, but then saw that it was only Dean. The boy had sat up just as suddenly—what had woke him—and was slumped forward over his knees now, rubbing his temples.

"Dean?"

"Hmm? Oh…hey Bobby; didn't mean to wake you."

"Well I'm up now. What is it?"

He shrugged. "Nothing."

But in the moonlight filtering through the curtains of the motel room, Bobby could see the sheen of sweat that coated his young charge's skin, and the way his chest was heaving just a little harder than necessary. "Nightmare?" he asked knowingly.

Dean only shrugged again, and pushed the blankets away as he swung his feet to the floor. "I'm fine."

"And I'm a monkey's uncle. Oh wait: I am."

Dean gave him a withering look.

"I'm just trying to help, son."

"Well I don't need it. Thanks, but I'm fine."

"Dean—"

"You don't wanna know, Bobby."

Bobby pushed his own covers away and slid to sit on the edge of his bed as well, facing Dean across the space between the beds. "I saw the things in the house, Dean. I know what Leah did to Sam."

Dean glanced up wearily. "Do you? Do you have any idea what it was like to watch her do that to him?"

"No," he answered quietly. "Maybe you should tell me."

"Are you kidding?" he snapped. Dean visibly calmed himself and smirked a little for cover. "Sorry. You know the whole talking thing isn't me." He stood and headed for the bathroom. Bobby watched him for a moment, concerned, as he leaned over the sink and splashed water into his face. After that he closed the door, but Bobby waited up for him.

When Dean came out he slumped heavily onto his bed from the other side, closest to the bathroom door. "I couldn't do anything," he admitted miserably. "I was friggin' helpless. I couldn't stop her."

"I know you tried."

"Of course I tried," he seethed. "What I did just wasn't enough."

"You did everything you could."

Dean let his forehead drop into his hands, his back to Bobby. "It's still my fault. I should have been able to do more—get him out of there sooner. If I had, maybe he wouldn't be—"

"Is that why you don't want him doing anything?"

He looked over his shoulder in confusion. "What?"

Bobby sighed. "I finally managed to get Sam to tell me what you two were arguing about Thursday. I know he wants to hunt, and you don't want him to."

Dean twisted around on the bed and scowled. "Well don't I have every right to want to keep him safe?"

"Of course. But right now you're only reacting to your own guilt. So stop it. None of this is your fault, Dean. You got him out of there alive, and that's what counts."

"Exactly; I plan to _keep_ him alive," Dean snorted.

"There's no point if keeping him as safe as you want to makes him miserable."

"He can just deal with it. He'll be back in the action soon enough."

Bobby winced silently. "What if he's not?"

"Bobby—"

"I don't want it to come to that either, but what if it does? I wish he'd stay put at my place too—I know it would give him a better chance—but if he doesn't want to, and you make him, you know he'll stay angry with you. Do you really want those to be the last memories you have together?"

He saw Dean swallow, and though it was dark he could just see the sheen of tears in his eyes. "That won't happen," he protested gruffly. "I won't let it happen."

"You think _I _want it to happen? I'd rather die than let anything happen to either of you boys. But you can't do everything, and neither can I."

"So you want me to just give up?" Dean hissed angrily.

"I didn't say that. I'm not giving up, either. You just need to know that we all have to be prepared for anything. I hate it too, but it's the truth."

Dean punched his pillows and dropped back to stretch out on the mattress again. He didn't answer, but Bobby was sure he was really thinking about it all now.

_I'm just sorry you have to._

* * *

He could see her face, hovering in front of him, still smirking…always smirking. He tried to blink it away, will it away, but she was still there, and then he felt the cold metal at his back and the dread twisting in his gut. He opened his mouth to scream, to protest, but nothing came out.

Sam gasped and opened his eyes. He wasn't on the table again; he was still in the hospital. His chest didn't even really hurt so much from the sharp intake of air.

He groaned and glanced around, wondering what time it was. The clock told him it was nearly eight already, and bright morning light spread into the room through the blinds over the window across the room, on the other side of the empty bed beside him. It was Saturday now. He'd been here more than a week, and hadn't had a roommate for a moment. Then again, that wasn't so surprising for a small hospital in rural Mississippi, he supposed.

Sam sighed softly and pushed the blankets away. He pulled his legs off the bed and sat on the edge for a moment, trying to decide if he had enough energy to make it to the bathroom. He knew he could walk—or limp, rather. He'd managed that yesterday, when both Dean and Bobby had been out. The leg wound had never been that bad and was healing fine; all he had to do was keep most of his weight off of it, and he could get around. He'd made it to the window and found a wonderful view of the parking lot.

He slowly pushed off from the bed and onto his right leg. He set his injured leg down more carefully, grimaced when he stood, but it held. With the IVs gone, the only thing hindering him was the oxygen tube, which he pulled from around his face and hung on the bed rail before limping into the bathroom. He considered it progress that he got there without his breath rate going up at all; his leg aching was the only consequence.

When Sam stepped out of the bathroom, Bobby was just coming in.

"Sam?"

He winced, caught. "Hey Bobby…"

Bobby's eyebrows went up, but he didn't protest, and to Sam's relief Dean wasn't right behind him. "You're doing better?"

Sam shrugged. "I'm up."

"Good, good." Bobby closed the distance and hugged him, though he hated that it felt like the older man was holding back, being careful with him. Sam returned the embrace as tightly as he could in response, and Bobby seemed to get the message and squeezed a little tighter, clapping him on the back a couple of times when he pulled back.

"It's good to see you up and around."

"I thought you'd kill me," Sam smirked sheepishly.

"Dean will, if he catches you."

"I know," he grimaced.

Bobby glanced down, then seemed to remember that Sam was in patient scrubs now instead of the hospital gown, and the bandages weren't visible. "How's your leg then?"

"Healing, I guess. It doesn't hurt so much anymore. I can limp around with it, anyway."

"Still might need crutches for a few days when you get out of here."

Sam sighed. "Maybe. I wish I knew when that would be, though."

"That's what Dean's checking on. And listen, Sam, you know how I feel about this—about you getting back on the road with your brother. I don't like it either…but I talked to him. I don't know if it did any good, but—"

"Sam, what the hell are you doin' up?"

"That didn't take long," Sam muttered. "Uhm, nothing, Dean. I was in the bathroom."

"Well get your ass back in the bed," his brother scowled. "And put that oxygen back on."

Bobby shrugged and gave him an _I told you so_ look, and Sam rolled his eyes and padded back to his bed. Almost before he was settled Dean handed him the oxygen tube, and he obediently pulled it over his head and settled it above his upper lip to let the two small open ends sit in his nose again.

Almost immediately his lungs worked a little easier, but it wasn't such a big difference anymore. He supposed it would be if he left it out long enough though—that was why there was an oxygen generator in the back of the Impala waiting for him when he left the hospital.

"Really, Dean, I'm fine. I don't need this twenty-four seven. Bennett even said as much," he protested.

"But you're probably better off the more you use it, so while you're sitting here in the hospital right next to it, you might as well keep it in."

If it would make Dean happy... "Fine…" Then he remembered what Bobby had said. "So what did he say this morning, anyway? When can I get out of here?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"That's good news," Bobby nodded.

"You're telling me. I'll be ready to go as soon as you're awake."

"No argument here," Sam agreed. "But—"

"We're still going to Bobby's."

"But Dean—"

He held up a hand for silence, and when he had it he sighed. "Look, we need to, at least for a few days." Dean looked away. "Just give me some time to think, okay?"

Well, it was a start. It was hope.

"Okay…"

Dean nodded and turned for the door again. "I'll go get us something to eat…"

Sam smiled at Bobby when he was gone. "Thanks."

He shrugged. "Don't thank me. I only talked to 'im a little bit—reminded him of a few things. It was up to him to decide to consider it. Thank your brother." Bobby paused, and looked at him for a long moment. "You won't be the only the one that might be making a sacrifice if he ends up lettin' you on the road with him."

"I know…" He crossed his arms uneasily and stared at his lap. "I know the risks, but…you can understand why I don't want to just…stop. Can't you?"

Bobby sighed. "Yeah, I suppose I can."

* * *

Sunday morning Dean brought Sam's bag in for him, and while his brother was in the bathroom changing he packed up the things that were still strewn about the room—Sam's jacket, computer, a couple of notebooks…he still had his toothbrush and things in the bathroom with him.

Dean couldn't help casting anxious glances from the empty bed to the bathroom door, still wondering if Sam should really be leaving the hospital yet. It wasn't that he liked being stuck around here for so long, or liked the antiseptic smell of the hospital, or being reminded of Sam's condition by being here. He didn't like any of that all. That part of him would rather have left days ago, but the rest of him wanted whatever was best for Sam. If that meant staying here a few more days, he wouldn't have argued.

One of the nurses had brought in a pair of crutches yesterday afternoon, because Doctor Bennett had suggested Sam stay on them until his leg healed. Sure, he could limp around on his own all right, but Bennett said the less stress the better.

Dean wasn't going to argue with that.

The bathroom door opened and Sam emerged finally, back in jeans, T-shirt, and a cream-and-brown plaid shirt that he looked immensely more comfortable in than the scrubs. He'd taken a shower the night before, so his hair wasn't stringy anymore, and his color was coming back. For the first time in nearly two weeks he looked clean and healthy. Dean let out a relieved breath just to see him like that. It helped add hope to the determination. It felt so much better to see Sam that way that it surprised him; he had to swallow back a sudden lump in his throat.

They would find a way to fix this, and the illusion of health wouldn't be only that anymore. Sam would be fine. He had to be.

Sam must have caught him staring, because he raised his eyebrows as he took the crutches from where they leaned outside the bathroom door. "What?"

Dean shook his head to clear his thoughts, and shrugged. "Nothing." He shouldered past Sam into the bathroom and swept up the things from the small counter that belonged to them. He deposited them in Sam's bag on the chair by the bed, then moved the chair back to the wall where it had been originally and shouldered the bag.

"Come on; let's blow this joint—finally."

Sam smirked and leaned into the crutches to follow him. At their highest setting already, the crutches were barely tall enough for his brother's lanky frame.

Bobby had left ahead of them the previous afternoon—to make sure his place was well-enough stocked to host two hungry twenty-somethings for a while, and get a room ready for them to sleep in—so the brothers were alone when they stopped at the front desk to wrap everything up. They got through it without too much awkwardness, and Dean was feeling successful in having a decent morning until Sam stopped just inside the doors that led out to the parking lot, with an unreadable look on his face.

Dean slowed to a halt and backpedaled to his brother's side. "Hey…what is it?" Sam had been quiet all morning, so he was justifiably surprised at the length of the answer.

"I don't know," Sam sighed. "I know it may sound stupid, but…I guess, while I was in there, I could still pretend it was any other hospital stay and everything would be normal again when we left." He stared out at the parking lot regretfully. "Out there I can't pretend that things aren't different now; that I'm not—"

He stopped abruptly, hands tightening on the handles of the crutches as his jaw worked and he ducked his head to stare at the tile.

Dean felt the familiar twist in his stomach whenever something else rammed home the fact that Sam hadn't finished saying. He took a steadying breath and squeezed his brother's shoulder. "Hey…no giving up, remember? It's not all dark out there."

Sam flashed him a weak, but thankful smile. "Yeah…" He glanced up and out through the doors. "Though that statement would be better served if it wasn't overcast."

Dean snickered. "So my timing sucks."

Sam laughed, and for a moment Dean was suddenly afraid he'd screwed up again, but nothing happened. His brother trailed off and coughed once, but it didn't seem to really hurt him. That was a whole heck of a lot better than last week, so Dean took it willingly and led his brother out to the car.

It was another relief to once again have Sam settled comfortably in the passenger seat of the Impala, but once Dean had shoved the crutches in the back, left Sam's bag in the trunk and climbed in behind the wheel, he glanced uncertainly back at the oxygen generator in the back seat just behind his brother.

"It's a few hours to Bobby's…"

Sam twisted around to see what he was looking at, wincing and pressing a hand to his ribs that weren't quite healed yet. Dean was pretty sure he still had one of those wrap things on underneath his shirts. "I don't need it right now," he said immediately, when he realized what Dean meant.

"You sure? Cause that thing's got like, a big rechargeable battery or something. That was the whole point of getting_ that _model; so you could use it in the car if you needed to, or whatever…"

"For right now, I'm only suppose to use the oxygen at night; that's what Bennett said—at night, and if I'm…having a bad spell, or something." He turned back around and stared out the window. "I won't need it more regularly than that until…later." _Later. When it gets worse. When we start to run out of time._

They were already running out of time. From the moment they stepped outside those doors, they were running out of time.

"And using it more often than that now wouldn't…do anything? You know, help any?" _Give you any more time?_

Sam shrugged. "Maybe a little; not enough to matter. Right now the breathing treatments are keeping everything working well enough."

Well enough. Only well enough, and that would change, eventually.

Dean grimaced and shoved the keys in the ignition. "All right…"

_Don't worry about it; let me worry about it. I'll take care of you, little brother. I promise. I'll fix this if it's the last thing I do._

* * *

Sam kept his gaze focused out the Impala's window for a while, watching the pine trees, farms, country churches and railroad crossings pass by. Within half an hour they'd passed back through the single intersection of Mize, Mississippi—where there was yet another church. As they neared the next town five minutes later, there were even more.

Somehow, the small, happy crowds of people greeting each other in the parking lots seemed comforting. It seemed like somewhere he'd like to be right now, instead of sitting in the car with nothing to do but wonder whether he was going to live to be 25 or 26.

"Hey…Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"It's Sunday morning."

Dean glanced at him. "No kidding, Sherlock. And?"

"Sunday morning is church," he said slowly.

"For religious people, yeah."

"You don't have to be 'religious' to go to church, you know, once in a while."

Dean looked at him curiously. "What are you gettin' at?"

He looked out the window again. "I don't know…Maybe we should stop."

"At a church?"

"Yeah. Why not? It's almost eleven; services are probably starting soon, most places…"

Now Dean looked really confused, or concerned. Maybe both. "What's gotten into you?"

Sam shrugged. "Nothing. It's just…I don't know. I've been in the hospital for a week. Maybe I need some civilization before we hole up at Bobby's."

"You want civilization, I'll find you a good bar."

He smirked. "Not that kind of civilization." He fell silent, not sure how else to explain himself without sounding any dumber than he was sure he already did. It wasn't something who could explain to Dean. None of the Winchesters had ever been religious by anyone's terms, but Sam did believe in God, mostly. Dean pretty much didn't at all.

"Oh, I get it," Dean said after a moment. "What, is me telling you I'm gonna fix this not enough? You need some church freak to tell you God's gonna make it okay?" he said bitterly.

"What? No, that's not it at all. I trust you."

"Then what's with the church thing?"

Sam sighed. "We're stretched a little thin right now, Dean, in more ways than one. Can't I just…." He gestured pointlessly. "You know, feel like actually going for once? Maybe it would do us both some good."

He wasn't lying; he trusted Dean to do everything he could, and didn't expect any help beyond Bobby and his brother—not from above or anywhere else. Still…that didn't mean he couldn't find a little comfort in faith.

"What kind of good?" Dean made a face and focused on the road. "I don't know, man…I mean, I know you believe in God and stuff, and if that floats your boat, I'm happy for you—"

"Fine, Dean, you don't have to come in. You can sit in the car."

"Well I'm not letting you go in anywhere by yourself…"

"I'm not helpless," Sam snapped.

They were passing into Taylorsville now, and Dean abruptly pulled into an old gas station at the left and jolted to a stop. Across the parking lot of the Piggly Wiggly next door were two churches—a Baptist on one corner, and a Methodist on the next.

"Whatever," Dean groused. "Which one?"

"Dude, I don't care."

He wasn't sure, but he thought Dean growled low in his throat before heading across the grocery store parking lot, and pulling around into the lot of the first church, the Baptist one. He stopped by the sign that read First Baptist Church of Taylorsville at the top, and had a message in those slidable letters underneath

"Hey…look at that: pot luck dinner after the morning service today. Visitors invited." Dean turned to grin at him, suddenly in a better mood again. "I'm in."

"Something for everybody, I guess…"

Dean was already watching a group of talkative young women that were heading inside. "You said it."

Sam shook his head as his brother parked the Impala, and thanked heaven for the small things. Dean in a good mood was definitely one of those small things he needed right now.

Dean turned off the car and started to open his door.

"You're coming in?"

"I told you; you're not going by yourself. Come on."

Sam rolled his eyes and got out, but stopped Dean before he pulled the crutches out of the back. "It's not that far."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "And you don't want to draw attention to yourself."

He shrugged.

"Uh huh. Fine. Game plan: we slip in the back, slip back out a few minutes before it's over, and then follow the crowd to the food."

"If you want to stay for the food, why do you want to leave before it's over?"

"I don't wanna be filing out with everybody else. I don't like religious people in my face asking me if I 'know Jesus' or whatever."

"He was a real person, you know. Historical evidence has proved that much."

"Thank you, college boy."

Sam sighed and led the way to the front doors where everyone else was going in—or rather, he would have if Dean hadn't positioned himself so close. His brother all but held onto his arm as they headed inside, apparently worried that his limp would eventually bring an all-out collapse. Sam didn't protest the proximity, because he remembered how much had only wanted to _help_ when Dean was sick.

Dean had shoved him off then, and it had hurt. He didn't want to do the same thing, if he could tolerate whatever Dean was doing. This wasn't so bad…but it was still annoying.

Dean nudged his arms once they got past the greeters at the door, and nodded off to the side where a young family was headed up a narrow set of stairs by the wall. "Hey look, balcony. Less conspicuous." He stopped suddenly and frowned. "If you think you can get up there," he added quietly.

Sam gave him a withering look. "I can get up there."

Thankfully, the short curving stairway had rails, which worked just as well as anything else. He was able to pull himself up without too much trouble or drawing any real attention, but he was out of breath by the time Dean guided him into the short back pew of the left side of the balcony.

The family that had gone up ahead of them was two rows in front of them, and that happened to be the front row. The balcony wasn't very large, and seemed to be something of a novelty. The opposite side of the balcony, on the other side of the soundboard, was filled with elementary and middle school children exchanging stories and candy before the service started.

"Sam?"

Dean studied him worriedly for a moment, but Sam scowled and waved him off as he caught his breath. Satisfied that he was all right, Dean looked out over the crowd, and Sam discovered his brother's ulterior motive. They had a perfect view of much of the congregation from here, and it seemed that the high school youth group and other young people gathered toward the front right in the middle. The group of young women Dean had been eyeing outside was there with the others, of course, to Dean's obvious delight.

"I wonder how many of them are legal," he whispered.

"Dean, we're in a church," Sam growled.

Dean held up his hands in surrender—and went right back to watching them silently. "Just 'cause I came in doesn't mean I'm gonna be paying attention to the preacher," he smirked after a moment.

"Don't embarrass me."

"Yes, dad."

Thankfully, the service started then, and Dean shut up—at least until the senior pastor took the podium to give announcements, and remind everyone about the pot luck dinner after the service.

The man who introduced himself as Brother Frankie—right, Southern Baptist church…all of the pastors were titled Brother—was small and thin, and graying at the temples and the edges of his receding hairline and goatee…but he was wearing glasses, cowboy boots, and a bolo tie with his white button shirt and suit pants.

"Dude, check the wardrobe," Dean whispered. "I like this guy already."

"I thought you didn't like preachers, period," he answered softly.

"I liked Pastor Jim."

"Pastor Jim was dad's friend; he was a hunter."

"Whatever. This guy gets point for coolness, anyway."

Sam couldn't help but smirk a little, but it disappeared quickly when the young mother in front of them turned to raise an eyebrow. He winced.

"Sorry, ma'am…"

Dean took the hint, and remained silent for the rest of the service.

The first twenty minutes was singing, and Sam and Dean stood and sat with the rest of the congregation, but neither opened their mouth. Dean had no interest, and Sam didn't want to hurt anyone's ears. This wasn't the part he'd come for, anyway.

When the thoroughly southern preacher took the podium again for the sermon, Dean seemed to immediately lose any interest in what was going on at the front of the sanctuary, and went back to people watching. Sam tuned in, wondering just what it was he'd wanted out of this, anyway. He wasn't quite certain he knew where the idea had come from in the first place.

What he didn't expect was the almost conversational way Brother Frankie spoke to the congregation—no, not just to his congregation, but to all of them. Somehow the way the man gave his message made him feel included. Sam hadn't really felt included with anyone but Dean very often since he'd left Stanford. Even there, he'd always known he was different, no matter how much he tried to forget it.

That didn't seem to be an issue here.

Sam let his eyes scan the people in the pews below, and realized that he and Dean weren't the only ones in jeans. The congregation spanned from young to old, well-dressed and casual, and most of them were giving the pastor their full attention, and seemed to _want_ to.

Something good can come from anything, the man was saying. God has a plan for everything, and He's always in control. If He was always in control, then why were there demons loose on Earth? Why more and more of them, all of a sudden? Because God allows trials to strengthen us, the preacher answered a moment later. Yeah…sure. If that was true, what was the point of this? Why was he dying? What good was there in that?

But somehow it stuck in his head, and Sam couldn't help but wonder if there was a reason for all of this. Maybe…just maybe there was.

That would certainly be much better to believe than thinking he was going through this for nothing—than thinking that everything their family went through was for nothing. But that was only wishful thinking.

Wasn't it?

Dean nudged him when the man seemed to be winding down, and they quietly slipped back down the stairs into the foyer, and outside. Going down the stairs had been a lot easier than going up, but Sam leaned against the warm brick wall for a moment anyway.

"I'm ready for some food," Dean grinned, clapping his hands together. "After taking an hour of boredom for you, I better get plenty of it, too."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You didn't hear a word the guy said, did you?"

"Ah, I caught some of it here and there, but I don't go in for that stuff anyway, so it don't matter."

"Uh huh."

"What about you? You get your warm fuzzies?" Dean smirked.

He shrugged. "I liked the way the guy preached. I can see why he's in charge here. It was a decent message, even if I don't quite buy it." Sam looked away. "Doesn't mean I don't _wish_ I could believe it."

Dean frowned. "What, all that there's-a-point-to-everything and there's-always-something-good crap?"

"Yeah."

His brother looked at him for a moment, and finally gave him a sincere smile of understanding. "I guess I wish it were true, too." He grimaced. "It'd make the shit we get into a whole lot easier. _But_ it's just not. It can't be. I'm not gonna believe anything good could come out of a _lot_ of the stuff we get into—especially not this," he said, staring at the ground.

There was silence for a long moment or two, until Dean looked up again.

"Come on, let's go get those crutches out of the car. We might still have to stand in line or something."

Sam nodded absently, and they made their way back to the Impala. Behind them the church doors opened and the people from inside began to pour out, all headed for the secondary building beside the main church. Dean had just handed the crutches out to Sam and shut the door when a middle-aged man walked by, tall and sporting a good mustache.

"Well, whadya know," the man said incredulously, stopping. "Never thought I'd see a Chevy Impala out here." He glanced up at the boys. "1967, isn't it?"

Dean's eyebrows went up to his hairline in surprise. "Yeah. It is. How'd you—?"

"Don't look so surprised, boy," the man chuckled. "Out here, even the preacher has a motorcycle gang. We know our classic vehicles. Well, I do."

"The pastor has a motorcycle gang?" Sam echoed.

"Well, he is a pastor. I don't suppose you'd call it a _gang_. But then again there really isn't any other word for it, after all. Yeah, there's a whole group of us that ride regularly. Some us even have classic Harleys—the real deal."

"Huh." Dean flashed a grin back at his brother, and then turned back to the older man. "You don't say. I gotta hear more about _this_."

"As long as you're headin' for the food."

"You better believe I am."

Sam sniggered to himself and followed them both to the end of the line, which was already outside the glass doors of what seemed to be a recreation building. The line wound inside through what looked like a tiled kitchen and eating area, bordered by floor-to-ceiling windows that let them see the tables piled with food from here.

"Man, why'd they have to build it like that?" Dean complained. "I'm hungry enough already." He peered in through one of the windows. "Holy crap, that's a lot of food."

"Haven't you ever been to a Southern Baptist pot-luck dinner?" their new companion asked.

"Actually, no."

"We've never been to a Southern Baptist church before," Sam smirked.

"Welcome to both of you, then. Just passing through, I take it?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Dean shrugged. He looked back through the window. "Hey Sam, maybe we oughtta find these things more often. Damn." Then he flinched just a bit and glanced back at the other man. "Oh. Sorry."

He shrugged. "No offense taken." He grinned. "I suppose you two aren't the church-going type, then."

"Not exactly. Oh hey, I'm Dean, by the way." He held out a hand and the man shook it. "This is my brother, Sam."

"Good to meet you, Dean and Sam. You can call me Clark."

"Nice. So what's this about the motorcycle gang…?"

Dean and Clark were soon involved in their own conversation over motorcycles and classic cars, and Sam was all but forgotten. He didn't mind; he was glad Dean had found someone to talk to who shared the interests Sam didn't have in common with his brother.

Sam didn't realized that he'd spaced out a little until someone bumped into him from behind. He spun in surprise, intending to apologize out of habit, forgot he had the crutches to hinder him, and would have tripped flat on his face if the offender hadn't grabbed an arm and a crutch and steadied him while at the same time screeching out a surprised, high-pitched apology.

"Oh I'm so sorry! I wasn't paying attention—"

All he caught at first was a flash of long blonde hair.

"Whoa! I'm sorry, ma'am, I—"

The apology trailed into a giggle. "I'm not a ma'am."

Sam finally had his feet and his crutches under him again, and when he focused he realized it was only a girl, barely middle-school age. "Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's fine. My bad for bumping into you." She frowned up at him, and then glanced down at the leg he was favoring with the crutches. "Are you okay? What happened to your leg?" she asked innocently.

Well he certainly couldn't tell a middle-school girl he'd been shot.

"Oh, uh, I just…fell down a flight of stairs." He _had_ fallen down the stairs to the basement more than once while Leah had them, so he figured it wasn't so much of a lie.

He glanced over her shoulder, wondering who she was with, and found only the rest of a group of youth standing in line together—no parents. He supposed as long as their children were at an event on church property, the parents wouldn't worry about keeping the kids at their sides. That was why no one had jumped in to scold her for being nosy or talking to strangers. Not that she was bothering him.

"I'm sorry; I hope it gets better soon," the girl smiled.

Sam smiled back uncertainly. "Thanks." _I hope so too. I hope there'll be a way to make _all _of it better soon. _

"Maybe there's a good reason for it, like Brother Frankie said in the sermon today," the girl said after a moment.

He shrugged. "You think so?"

"I broke my leg once, when I was ten. It hurt, but it was kinda cool after that 'cause my parents made my big brothers do stuff for me. They always bother me and all, but they couldn't do anything mean while I had my cast on or they got in _really_ big trouble. I still had to be nice to them, cause we're supposed to always be nice and stuff, but still—it was cool," she grinned. "Do you have any big brothers?"

"One," he answered, glancing back at Dean.

The girl tilted her head to the side to see around him. "That one?" she pointed.

"Yep."

"Isn't he shorter than you?"

"He sure is, but he still bothers me sometimes, too," Sam smirked.

"Well there you go," the girl said, and straightened, crossed her arms and nodded her head once. "Maybe 'cause your leg's hurt, he won't bother you. That's good."

"I don't know about that," he chuckled. He brought an arm up to his mouth as he trailed off into a cough and winced, and the girl looked at him with concern.

"You okay?" she asked again.

"Yeah, thanks." He'd hoped that one hadn't registered on Dean's radar, but when he glanced back his brother had already turned looking for him. "I'm fine, Dean." Dean gave him a wary glance, but went back to his conversation without further comment. When Sam looked back to the girl, she was smiling.

"See? He's not bothering you now. I think he cares about you a lot."

He smiled a little in return, and knew she was right. "Yeah," he answered, as the annoyance at his brother melted away for now. "I guess he does."

"Jessica, up here!"

The girl looked toward the front of the line quickly. "Oh hey, my parents saved a spot for me!" She jumped out of the line quickly, then glanced back at him. "Nice to meet you…"

"Sam," he answered quietly, a little stunned.

"Nice to meet you, Sam," she grinned. "Don't worry; everything will be okay."

"Thanks…Jessica."

"You're welcome." Then she waved and ran off, and Sam was left wondering if he'd just seen an angel.


	10. Chapter 10

Sorry this chapter is a little shorter than some others, but the end of this one was a necessary stopping point. Anyway, I hope you like this chapter; I can't wait to hear what you think. Thanks so much for reading! Have a great day. :)

Chapter 10

"I was right; that _is_ a lot of food."

Dean was grinning over the tables with unabashed glee. If anything could put him in a good mood, it was good food—and man, did a lot of this stuff ever look good. He happily began dipping food onto his plate, watching in amusement as Sam pinched the crutches under his arms and tried to do the same for himself.

It was funny for a minute or two, watching stop in one spot, scoop up what he wanted, set the plate down, scoot over, then hold the crutches in place and pick up the plate and repeat. It was obvious from the set expression on his face that he didn't want any help, but soon Dean realized he was slowing the line down. Not that these kinds of people would ever say anything, but still…

"Dude, you're holding up traffic." He grabbed the spoon Sam was reaching for. "You just hold the plate; I got it."

"But—" Dean nodded ahead to the huge gap between Sam and people ahead of them in line, and Sam winced. "Fine…"

"Okay, say when." Dean dipped stringy homemade macaroni-and-cheese onto his brother's plate until Sam said stop, and then took some for himself. Working together that way, they picked up the pace a little, and managed to get through the line without anyone complaining. It wasn't until they passed the drink table that Dean remembered there wouldn't be any beer at a church function.

Then they discovered that, at this church function, there wasn't even any soda.

"Sweet tea, unsweet tea, or lemonade, boys," the woman behind the table said, pointing in succession to the three separated groups of large, pre-filled Styrofoam cups.

"Oh…right." He picked up a sweet tea. "If we're gettin' back to basics, might as well go all the way back." He took a swallow—and immediately choked, coughing out most of what he'd sipped. "Holy s—wow that's strong!" Dean glanced down at his shirt, which was where everything in his mouth had gone.

"Great…"

Sam had doubled over laughing immediately, and Clark pulled him up straight and took his plate from him when he trailed off into hacking coughs of his own. "You all right, boy?"

But the coughing didn't really seem to bother him, even though it sounded bad. He straightened on his own and cleared his throat, stopping the coughing on his own and still snickering. "I'm fine, I'm fine," he chuckled.

The woman behind the drink table was laughing, too. "That's why they call it sweet tea!"

"Yea, thanks, I get it. We were born in Kansas; it's just been a while," Dean smirked.

"Apparently too long," Clark grinned.

"Guess so." Dean tried the tea again, and this time he was ready for it, and he realized it was pretty good. "Hmm. Yeah, that's tea all right."

"Grab me some," Sam nodded.

Sam, Dean, and Clark wound their way out of the eating area, and finally managed to find a table among those that overflowed into the gym. As they passed one of the tables near the gym door a young blonde girl spotted Sam and waved wildly from where she sat with her parents, and Sam smiled tentatively and waved back—as much as he could with the crutches while holding a plate.

"What was that?" Dean asked as they sat down.

"She was in line right behind us at first," he explained.

"Dude, she's like twelve."

"I just bumped into her, that's all. We talked for a minute."

Clark seemed to have noticed, as well. "The Madisons? Yeah, nice family, they are. That girl of theirs is always sweet. She usually makes it her job to welcome all the visitors."

Sam went white. "The who—what?"

"The Madisons. That was Jessica Madison that just waved to ya over there."

"Oh," he answered weakly, and immediately dug into his food without another word.

Dean's eyebrows went up. "Well doesn't this day just get better and better."

Clark looked at him in confusion. "Did I say something?"

"Not at all; it's hard to explain."

"Ah…"

Sensing that Sam would rather be left alone—he had that deep thinking look on—Dean went back to discussing common interests with Clark. Still, he kept an eye on his brother.

* * *

When Sam got up to throw his plate away, Jessica's family was leaving. She took notice of him again and hopped over, still smiling.

"Hey."

It was easier to smile back this time. "Hey...listen, I want to thank you for what you said, back in the line."

She shrugged. "It's just what I woulda said to anybody."

"I bet so, but still—I think it helped."

"Good," she grinned. "Hey, you want me to pray that you'll get better soon?"

"Yeah…Yeah, I'd like that," Sam answered quietly. "Thanks." If there had been any doubt before, thoughts that the meeting was only coincidence, they were gone now.

"Okay, then I will. Promise you'll come back some time?"

Sam winced. "I don't know if I can promise that I will. I guess I can promise that I'll try."

"Okay," Jessica shrugged. "I can deal with that."

He chuckled, and didn't cough this time. "Great."

"Jessica, hurry up! We have to go to your grandma's this afternoon!" the girl's mother called.

"Coming!" She turned and glanced back at him one more time. "Bye, Sam."

"Goodbye, Jessica."

She disappeared again, and then he felt his brother's hand on his shoulder. "Come on; it's time for us to get on the road, too," Dean told him.

"Right. You said goodbye to Clark already?"

"Yep. He headed out."

They couldn't leave before Dean went back through the area with the food table and piled a plate with leftovers. "You want anything?"

"No thanks."

"Come on, my brother—sustenance for the road. Never pass up good food."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Fine; get another plate then. I might eat it later. If not, I'm sure Bobby will."

"Good point." Dean dipped up a second extra plate from the ample food left on the tables, and headed out to the car with one in each hand, covered in plastic wrap he'd scored from one of the women already starting the cleanup in the kitchen. They settled in the Impala with the plates on the dashboard, and Sam leaned into the door, tired already.

"So. I guess you're glad we stopped, huh?" he smirked.

"Shut up. Yeah, I guess I'm glad we did. You happy now?"

Sam shrugged affirmatively.

"So just what was up with that kid, anyway?"

"I'm not sure," he said slowly. "But…she told me everything was going to be okay. I know it was really just a little girl trying to cheer up a stranger, but…" He glanced at his brother. "I think I believe her."

Dean smiled gently. "Good—cause it will be. Maybe it'll take some time, and maybe we'll have to work our asses off looking for a way, but you _will _be okay, Sammy."

"Thanks, Dean."

"You're welcome. Now no more hallmark moments for at least a few hundred miles, okay?"

He laughed once. "Whatever." Then he sat up a little. "Oh. Bobby. You'd better call him and let him know we'll be later than we thought."

Dean held up the cell phone that was already in his hand, and Sam settled back again. "Right. You're way ahead of me."

* * *

They made it to Bobby's late that afternoon, and he showed them the room he'd scrounged up. It was at the back of the ground floor and the walls were—unsurprisingly—lined with full book shelves, but there was a twin bed and an old couch that looked comfortable.

"It's not much, but then again I'm not used to company. You boys fight over the bed space, and I'll get dinner on."

"Ah, that's okay, Bobby. We just ate; didn't want to bother you tonight," Dean told him. They'd eaten the plates they'd brought from the church an hour or so back, and Sam was full again. By the way Dean said what he did, he was sure his brother was, too.

"That's fine, but _I'm_ hungry." With that Bobby headed back to the front of the house, and Dean shrugged and turned back to look at the room.

"Which one you want?"

Sam shrugged. "It doesn't matter. They both look a little short."

Dean smirked.

"What?"

"I just love the fact that there _are _disadvantages to being as tall as you."

Sam whacked his brother's legs with one of the crutches, and Dean yelped and jumped back. "Hey!"

"Don't mess with a guy on crutches," Sam said sagely.

"Smart ass," Dean muttered. "Fine, I'm gonna go get the stuff out of the car—and no, you're not helping."

Sam shrugged and dropped onto the freshly made bed, leaning the crutches against the wall and stretching out on top of the bedspread. A few minutes later Dean was back, a bag over each shoulder and lugging the oxygen generator behind him.

"I'm glad this damn thing has wheels," he growled. "Maybe it's _smaller than others_, but it ain't tiny. You better be glad you're my brother."

_Yeah…I am. _

* * *

Dean dropped the bags, settled the oxygen generator beside the bed where Sam was splayed out watching him with amusement, and then headed back out to the Impala to bring in the rest of their things. By the time he made it back to the room again, Sam was asleep.

He shook his head and made his way to the kitchen to find Bobby.

"Getting settled alright?" the older man asked, from where he stood over the stove stirring something.

"Yeah, we're good. Sam's out already," Dean shrugged, sliding into a chair at the table. "I'll have to wake him up and make sure he takes a breathing treatment before tonight though."

Bobby nodded. "Right…" He sighed and finally turned away from the stovetop.

"What?"

"So…do you have any idea what you boys are going to do?" he asked, crossing his arms.

Dean shrugged and shook his head. "No…not yet. I mean, I haven't given him an answer or anything."

"I see." Bobby studied him for a moment, and turned back to the stove. "I know you'll take care of him, whatever you decide."

Silence fell after that, until Dean cleared his throat and posed a question of his own. "Uhm, hey, so whatever happened to that thing in Ohio?"

"The first body fit a vampire's MO, but nothing else showed up after that. Either it was the most careful vampire nest I've ever heard of, and they've moved on already, or it wasn't anything supernatural to begin with. Either way, there wouldn't be much point in going there now."

"Good."

"Good?"

"Maybe without the immediate concern he won't bug me so hard for an answer."

Bobby just shook his head.

* * *

Sam woke with his shoes missing, the covers pulled over him, and his oxygen tube in his nose. After a moment or so he vaguely remembered being woken once before, Dean sitting him up and keeping him conscious enough to take a breathing treatment before he fell asleep again. Already a little embarrassed, Sam sat up slowly, wondering what time it was.

The moonlight from the window barely illuminated the old clock on the wall enough to tell him that it was well past midnight, and a glance told him Dean was where he should be—sound asleep on the couch across the room. Sam pulled the tube off and limped to the bathroom.

When he returned, Dean wasn't quite so sound asleep anymore. He wasn't awake, either, but he was tossing and turning on the couch, dangerously close to falling off. Sam crouched by the couch on his good leg to lean over Dean, and gripped his shoulder.

"Dean?"

There was no response at first. Dean let out a panicked breath in his sleep and tried to turn on his side, away from his brother, but Sam held him flat. "Dean, wake up."

Dean's breath hitched, and his eyes snapped open. They seemed to find Sam immediately, and then Dean's arms shot out and locked around him in an automatic reaction, before he was really awake.

"Sammy—!"

Sam grunted and dropped back on his rear as his leg gave out under him, and nearly pulled Dean off the couch with the movement. Being unbalanced woke him up quickly and in a moment Dean was sitting up, looking around in confusion and trying to untangle his arms from Sam's.

"What the—"

"Dude, are you okay?" Sam breathed, grimacing.

Dean must have realized that he'd done something a bit embarrassing, because he'd already looked away as he scrubbed at the sleep in his eyes. "Uhm, yeah. I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"I'm fine, Sam," he snapped.

"Okay…easy." Sam stood and backed away, holding up his hands in surrender.

He retreated to the bed, and slipped his oxygen tube back on as he crawled back in, watching Dean rearrange his pillows on the couch and turn toward the wall as he tried to get back to sleep. Within a few minutes Dean was still, but the tense line of his shoulders told Sam that his brother wasn't asleep.

"You can talk about it, you know. I was there too."

"Ya think?" the gruff voice answered.

It seemed like that was the only reply he would get, but Dean spoke up again several minutes later, his back still turned.

"Sorry, but you just…you don't get it. You can't."

"Get what?" Sam asked quietly.

More silence. "You didn't have to _watch_ that bitch torture your brother," came the barely audible reply, finally. "You weren't stuck locked in a freaking basement listening to _me_ screaming."

Sam gulped back the sudden lump in his throat. "You—"

"Damn right I heard it." Dean flipped over and sat up again, glaring into the past. "Mostly that last time, before we tried luring her down the stairs. And don't go blaming yourself; all of it was _her _fault, okay?"

"I'm sorry…"

"What did I just say?"

"I know, I know, I just…I'm sorry. I am. I'm sorry any of it happened at all…" His chest ached now, but it was only because the knowledge hurt. He'd already known it, somewhere. He'd known Dean had to have heard a lot of what he hadn't seen, and he couldn't forget that his brother had been there, the very last time.

Sam was glad Dean had gotten it off his chest, somewhat, but it still hurt to hear.

It hurt to know his brother was still in pain, too.

"You and me both," Dean muttered in response.

"Are you all right?" Sam asked again, after another moment.

"I told you I'm fine. I'll get over it."

"Dean…"

"What did I say about the hallmark moments? Thanks for the concern and all that jazz, but we're done here." With that Dean lay down and turned away again, and this time he really did fall asleep.

Sam huffed in frustration and turned to the wall himself. He didn't sleep much after that.

* * *

"Sam! Get your ass in here and take this breathing treatment!" Dean shouted from the kitchen. It took a few minutes, but Sam came—without the crutches now, though he still limped a little. He dropped into a chair at the table where the nebulizer was already filled and waiting for him.

"I feel like a little kid with asthma or something," Sam complained.

Dean smirked as he pulled out leftovers for dinner. "Well thanks to you I feel like the _mother_ of an _absent-minded_ little kid with asthma."

Sam snorted, but by the time Dean glanced back to say something else, his brother had the mask over his nose and mouth and had turned the thing on. The noise made talking more difficult, and he was forced to abandon whatever smart-elic comment he might have had in mind.

"Hey, what do you want?" he called over the noise, motioning to the various containers he'd set out on the counter.

"I can get it myself," Sam muttered through the plastic.

Dean shrugged and turned back to the food. "Just asking…"

By the time Sam was finished Dean had warmed up his supper, and he flipped on the radio on the way to the table. Sam stood to get his own food, and made a face as he passed.

"You change the station, I kick your ass," Dean told him seriously.

Sam smirked, but said nothing, and Dean happily dug in and listened to his music. As Sam sat down a few minutes later, the song changed, and he set his fork down in surprise.

"Holy crap. No way."

Sam blinked up at him, just short of taking his first bite. "What?"

"I haven't heard this song in forever. I think it was old when Dad was our age."

"Okay…and?"

Dean grinned at his brother. "Dude, this is first song you ever danced to."

"Excuse me?" Sam set his own fork down now, confused.

"Yeah. You couldn't have been more than eighteen months old. It was just another motel, but Dad had the radio on, and you were walkin around. That song came on, and you went to town like you'd been doing it for years. Don't ask me why it was that one, though. You were a kid; kids do weird things."

Sam stared at him, looking like he couldn't decide whether to be amused, or horrified that Dean had brought up such a thing. "And you remember that? You were five."

"Of course I remember; it was friggin' hilarious." Unused to being nostalgic, Dean shrugged and looked away. "We weren't old enough for Dad to leave us alone yet, so it wasn't such a big deal that he was actually there, but…you know, it was one of those days he was in a good mood. It was about a year after the fire, and I think that day was the first time he'd really laughed since then."

When he looked up again Sam was fixing him with one of those small smiles and the I'm-glad-you're-actually-talking-about-stuff-like-this face, and Dean grimaced a little. "Anyway, yeah. It was funny. That's all."

Sam nodded in understanding, and thankfully seemed to gather that the short conversation was over. He picked up his fork and started eating, and Dean did the same.

It wasn't until both of them were nearly finished that either of them said anything.

"Dean…it's been almost a week."

His decent mood soured immediately. "I know that."

Surprisingly enough, it was the first time Sam had said anything, but that didn't mean Dean really wanted to talk about it. Watching Sam this week he'd made his decision, after much agonizing thought, but part of him didn't want to say it out loud—didn't want to shatter the easy rhythm they'd fallen into in the past few days.

It was easy here. It was easy to pretend that nothing was wrong.

Bobby saved him momentarily, when the older hunter burst into the room with a phone still in his hand.

"Whoa, what's up?" Dean asked immediately.

"Apparently we've still got trouble at that university in Ohio," Bobby sighed. "_Two_ more bodies were found on campus yesterday, in the same condition as the first."

"Bled out? Vampire MO?" Sam asked.

"Yep."

Sam looked at his brother. "Dean…"

Dean let out a pent-up breath. "Bobby, can we have a minute?"

Their friend looked back and forth between them and nodded slowly. "You know where I'll be."

When he was gone Sam frowned. "Dean?"

"I heard you the first time. Give me a second." He stood and paced to the counter, resting his hands on the edge of the sink and staring out the kitchen window. He could feel Sam's eyes boring into his back. "I still don't like it," he said finally. He didn't have to tell anyone what he meant.

"I know," Sam said quietly.

"I'd really rather you stay here and let us handle this stuff. I'd like it a whole lot better if you'd let me and Bobby find a way to make you better." He sighed. "Thing is, we've been okay this week, and I don't want to lose that—but I can't have both. If I let you hunt, I'm not happy, and if I make you stay here, you won't be happy."

Sam stayed silent, probably wondering where he could possibly be going with this. Dean took a deep breath and turned around, leaning back against the counter. "I'll make you a compromise. We'll do this—we'll hunt, and we'll look for a way to fix this together—if you do it under my terms."

His eyebrows went up. "I'm game, I guess. What kind of terms?" Sam asked warily.

"You keep up with your medication, and your breathing treatments, you don't push yourself, and you let me decide how much you do or don't on a case. That means for now, at least, you are strictly on research and interview duty. You deal with the paper and the people—no tangling with the monsters."

"Aww c'mon, Dean—"

"Take it or leave it, Sammy," he shrugged. "My way or the highway—or rather, _no_ highway for you. Whatever…"

Sam stifled a snicker at that, and rolled his eyes. He let out a shallow sigh of frustration and looked away for a moment, contemplating. Dean waited, shifting uncomfortably until his brother looked at him again.

"Fine. For now," Sam said finally.

"For now?" Dean echoed dangerously.

"Yeah. For now. Take it or leave it," Sam answered, repeating Dean's words from before. Dean grumbled.

"Whatever." He pushed away from the counter. "Let's let Bobby know, I guess." He'd just passed his brother when Sam's voice stopped him.

"Dean?"

"What?"

"Thanks."

Dean only snorted a little. "Yeah." But when they found Bobby in his study and Sam was grinning by then, he couldn't help but smile.

"Well?" Bobby asked, looking up from his desk. "What are we doing?"

Dean glanced at Sam, then back to their friend, and shrugged. "I guess we're goin' to Ohio."


	11. Chapter 11

Hey ya'll; I'm so sorry it took so long for me to update. I was trying to finish up Time's Redemption, and then there were exams at school, and the spring concert, bla bla bla. I had to focus on school for a week or two. But I'm back! And school is pretty much over, so hopefully no more delays! *grin* Here ya go; let me know ya'll are still around and liking this if its true. *hugs* Thanks so much ya'll!

Chapter 11

Sam vaguely felt the slap on his shoulder and dimly heard his name called, and woke to find his cheek pressed into the Impala's passenger side window.

Dean poked him again. "Hey, Rip Van Winkle. We're here."

He groaned and sat up, his back popping as he stretched and rubbed his eyes groggily. When he finally focused and glanced out the window toward Dean, he took in the gas station they were parked at, and beyond it the endless acres of farm and pasture land.

"We are?" he asked in confusion.

Dean nudged him and pointed, and he turned to look out his own window. Right across the narrow highway rose a modern college campus, and he was staring at the sign that graced the entrance to Cedarville University.

"Oh…nice."

Dean snorted. "Since when do they put universities in the middle of freakin' nowhere?"

Sam shrugged and straightened. "Room to grow, I guess."

"Whatever." He climbed out of the car, and Sam grabbed the case folder he'd been looking over before he fell asleep and followed him. Bobby was parked beside them, and they met him around the front of the vehicles.

"Studied up?" Bobby asked, nodding to the folder.

Sam leaned back against the Impala's hood and flipped it open, glancing across the road to the university campus. "Yeah, pretty much. I think we've got enough daylight hours left to get started, too."

Bobby nodded. "That's what I was thinking. I say we find a motel, get changed, and head back here. I'll start in the offices, and you boys can start on those who knew the victims."

Dean frowned. "No real witnesses?"

"Not yet," Sam answered briskly, looking down again to bury his nose in the folder. "Apparently the first victim, a few weeks ago, was the wife of one of a professor who lived on campus. The two victims found two days ago were students—a guy and a girl. They both have roommates we should probably talk to, and there's the professor."

"Fair enough. Where are the motels around here?"

Sam looked up and down the road, making out the edge of a tiny town down the hill. He smirked. "There's probably only one." Somehow he didn't find himself worrying whether it was in good shape or not when they found it, though.

It just felt good to be on the job.

* * *

The motel they found at the edge of town wasn't any shabbier than most, and they quickly booked two rooms and retreated inside to shower and break out the cheap suits. Dean's turn in the shower came second, and when he emerged from the main bathroom he found Sam dressed and leaning on the counter in front of the sink, staring uneasily into the mirror.

He looked fine—after all the sleep he'd gotten in the car, he should—but something still seemed to be bothering him. Dean clapped him on the back as he walked past. "Something wrong, beauty queen?"

Sam only snorted softly and let his head drop to stare at the countertop.

Dean slowed to a stop, let out a breath and leaned against the doorframe of the small alcove outside the bathroom. "Seriously, dude. What is it? You were all gung-ho let's-save-the-world yesterday."

Sam shook his head. 'I don't know…" he glanced up and squinted into the mirror again, as if looking for something.

"Then let's go. We've got people to see before it gets too late."

He still didn't move, and suddenly he seemed even more uncomfortable. Something about the looking on his face turned on a light in Dean's mind, and he realized what was wrong. "You look fine; let's go," he said quickly, trying to pull off the reassurance and keep the conversation casual at the same time.

Sam grimaced. "You mean I don't look like I have a fatal lung condition."

Dean resisted the urge to flinch. "Uhm, yeah."

Silence fell for a moment.

"It's just…I had to be sure," Sam said finally. "If we're going to do this—keep hunting—then no one else can know about me. I mean, no one we might meet on a hunt. We have to be able to avoid getting into that everywhere we go."

Dean's lips pressed into a thin line before he answered. "Yeah…you're right. That makes sense."

Sam nodded and pushed away from the counter, glancing down at himself self-consciously. "So…I'm all right?"

"You're fine," he answered quietly.

And he was. If he kept the remnants of the limp under control and didn't try to exert himself, no one on the street would ever know anything was wrong with him—not yet, anyway.

Somehow that didn't make it any easier anymore.

"Okay…" Sam sighed. He buttoned the cheap suit coat, face setting in determination, and nodded once. "Let's go."

Dean cleared the lump in his throat before it could really form, and followed his brother out. "Yeah. Hey, maybe we should start with the girl…"

* * *

The two-story, tan brick dormitory wasn't as large as some Sam had seen, but it was certainly decent enough in size. Two long wings were connected by a narrow section between them, and the glass door and windows there seemed to make up the main entrance. He and Dean followed the sidewalk between the two wings to the door, and slipped in behind a small group of students—bypassing the need for a key.

They used real keys here too, Sam noticed, instead of the key cards or passwords many campuses were switching to these days. That could be useful to know later.

The brothers found themselves in a lobby; something of a recreation room with ping-pong and foosball tables, couches and chairs and coffee tables, and a few vending machines. There were wide ledges for sitting under the glass bay windows, too. Nothing was brand new, but it looked comfortable enough, and the atmosphere made by the relaxing students gave off warmth that wouldn't have been afforded by the white cinder block walls alone.

The group they'd followed in split inside, and of those that didn't remain in the rec room, the guys steered right while the girls went left. Dean raised eyebrows watching them go. "Hey this is an upperclassman dorm, right?" he grinned. Sam elbowed him, and he shrugged.

Watching the student coming and going, it didn't take long to figure out that the two wings were separated by gender. There were locks on the inner doors on either ends of the lobby, too—the ones that led into the individual wings. Dean seemed to noticed that, too.

"So…how do we find the girl?"

It was then that an older, graying blonde approached them, arms crossed in a conservatively friendly manner.

"Dorm mother?" Dean muttered.

Sam didn't have time to answer.

"May I help you gentleman?" the woman asked, glancing the suits up and down.

"I hope so," Dean pulling out a forged FBI badge as Sam produced his own.

"We're looking for Abigail Ragusa. We just need to ask her a few questions; it won't take long," Sam added.

The woman's lips pursed unhappily. "But the police have already talked to her."

"We know that, ma'am, but this case is now of interest on a federal level, and we've got to do our job," Dean said.

"All right," the woman sighed. She turned and caught the attention of a short redhead. "Michelle, have you seen Abby?"

The girl eyed Sam and Dean curiously. "I think she's up in her room."

"Could you get her, please?"

"Okay…" Michelle hurried off, and the older woman turned back to the boys.

"I'm sorry for not introducing myself; I'm Ashley McCarthy," she said, extending a hand. Both of them shook it briefly, as the woman confirmed the suspicions that she was, indeed, he dorm mother for the women's wing.

"I can't let you into the wing itself, of course, but there's a smaller room just off the main lounge here you can use to speak with Abby when she comes down."

"Thank you," Sam nodded.

Uneasy silence fell after that, standing at the edge of the room while the students cast them curious glances. It seemed an eternity before the redhead Michelle returned, followed closely by a brunette of average height, with waves of chocolate brown falling to her shoulders and dropping into the eyes of a modest blue-eyed face. Abigail Ragusa looked as if she'd been crying recently, and Sam felt the familiar ache of guilt for a life not saved—along with a healthy dose of sympathy for this girl herself.

Then he spotted Dean wearing the discreet version of his oh-this-looks-good face, which seemed to be directed at both girls, and Sam shot him a look that wiped it away before the girls reached them.

"Abby, dear, these men are from the FBI. They need to talk to you," Ms. McCarthy said gently.

"Little young to be FBI, aren't you?" Michelle questioned protectively.

"Michelle," McCarty said sharply.

Abby sighed and nudged the other girl, and it was clear now that the two were friends. "It's okay."

Michelle huffed and stalked off, but Dean watched her go with interest and Sam hoped Abby and the dorm mother didn't notice.

"I'm sorry about her; she's just got a little bit of a temper," Abby apologized, smiling weakly. Sam smiled back in acceptance, and the girl's own smile seemed to brighten in response.

"It's fine. We understand. I'm sorry about what happened to your friends."

"Right," she grimaced. "This would be about that, wouldn't it?"

"Afraid so," Dean answered shortly.

Abby sighed. "Okay…so…"

"Over here." McCarthy took the hint and ushered them in the direction of the door to the girl's wing, stopping just short and waving them through another door beside it. They ended up in what looked like a dorm room, but with more permanent furniture and only one bed.

"It's her room," Abby explained as the dorm mother left them alone. The sad smile again. "I've spent a lot of time hiding out in here the past couple of days. Ms. McCarthy is a good friend, and she has a lot of good books, so that helped, and…" She trailed off, seeming to realize she was babbling a little. "Yeah."

"Good. That's good…" Sam trailed next, because he wasn't sure what else to say. Finally he decided to ignore whatever was impeding his speech, and get down to business. "Uhm, this is Agent Duncan; I'm Agent Mayers. We'll try not to take too much of your time, but we need to ask you a few questions about what happened to your friends, ah…" He blanked on the names and went to open the folder he was carrying.

"Blake Allen and your roommate, Kaylah Bowman," Dean said before he could look. Sam frowned a little in surprise—surprise that _Dean_ had remembered, or maybe just that he himself had forgotten.

"Right, and I'm sorry, you've probably answered most of our questions already, but—"

"It's our job," Dean smiled, in that get-on-with-it way.

"Right," Sam repeated.

Abby's head ducked for a moment, and she nodded quickly, a little apprehensively. "Okay, uhm…what do you need to know?"

"Just a few things. Ah…reports say they were found under a bridge?"

She shrugged. "It's not really a bridge. It's on the other side of the lake, and it's just the sidewalk over the spillway."

"So they were found in the spillway?" Dean asked.

Abby nodded again. "It's really kind of in the open, though, so I don't know how—I mean, I…" It was easy enough to put together the rest of the sentence. _I don't want to think about it._

"I take it it was dark when this happened?" Dean went on.

"Yes. They were found the next morning."

"And what were they doing out there so late?"

Abby frowned. "Uh, they were dating…they…" She grimaced. "Blake said he was going to propose to her sometime soon…" A small sob and a thin trail of tears slipped free, and she swiped at her face quickly. "I'm sorry."

"No, we're sorry. It's all right," Sam said quickly. Dean gave him a look he couldn't quite read, but he ignored it and focused his attention on Abby. "Just a few more questions."

"Were either of them acting strange before this happened?" Dean jumped in immediately.

"What?"

"Were either of them acting strange before what happened? Or did you notice anything else strange in the days before?"

Abby was scowling in confusion now. "I…no. What do you mean?"

Sam cut back in before any damage was done. "He just means that _anything_ could lead us to a clue about who did this. Anything. If anything was different, or…strange, like he said, before the attack, you should tell us."

"The only thing that was any different than usual was Professor Ray, and his class, and that's only because his wife was killed a few weeks ago. We all feel so horrible about that, too."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "He didn't take time off?"

She shook her head. "No…only a couple of days. Then we was right back in the classroom. I suppose he wanted to work rather than think about it," she sighed. "Not that I can blame him; I'd rather bury my nose in a book. I mean, I've known Kaylah since freshman year. We met on a forum online before we even _got _here, because we were planning on the same major, and she's been my roommate since last year. That's when we met Blake, when he transferred into our undergraduate program, and we're seniors! We were supposed to graduate together in a few weeks, and now they're both gone, and—"

Abby only choked a little as she cut herself off and quickly regained her composure on her own. "I'm running my mouth again," she apologized, and the quick, embarrassed grin seemed more genuine this time.

Sam couldn't help but return a smile and hurt for her at the same time. He could relate to much of what she was going through. Best friend, girlfriend…he was sure it all hurt just as much.

"You certainly have a right to—or whatever," was what he said. Brilliant work, James Dean.

"Thanks," she smirked dimly.

"Anyway, I think that's all we need," he rushed on.

"Really?"

"Yes," Dean confirmed, standing immediately. "Thank you for your time. Agent Mayers…"

Sam grimaced apologetically and followed his brother out, leaving the confused young woman behind.

* * *

"So what was up with all that back there?"

Dean smirked as they made their way out to the Impala in the dorm's parking lot. "You're asking _me_ what was up back there?"

"What?"

"Never mind. What are _you_ talking about?"

Sam huffed as they climbed in. "You were checking out every girl that walked past."

"Considering the last three weeks of our lives, you're confused about that why?"

"This is not the place to get lucky, Dean," his brother protested.

Dean pulled out and headed for the highway for the short drive to the motel. It was nearly dark, and it had happened faster than they'd thought. They could get on with the investigation in the morning. "How is this place different from any other?"

"_Christian_ university, Dean. Maybe that doesn't mean a lot to you—either of us, really—but it means a lot to them. I seriously doubt anyone here would be too happy about things like that going on on campus."

"So I'll bring one back to the motel room—or heck, maybe two," he grinned.

Sam rolled his eyes, winced a little, giving Dean the impression he had a headache coming on. "That's the whole point; they won't come. These are not the kind of girls you're used to."

"Oh come on; they can't _all_ be like that."

"Dean, it's not about that! It's about respecting this place for what it is, and respecting the people here enough not to mess with them. The _last _thing we need is you causing trouble just because—" Sam cut off and sighed, and sank down in the bench seat.

Dean watched him for a moment, realizing how serious he was. The last thing Dean wanted was to cause his brother any more stress than he was already carrying.

"Fine," he said, as he parked at the motel.

Sam looked up. "What?"

"Fine," Dean repeated. "If it makes you feel any better, I'll lay off the chicks while we're here, okay?"

Sam only nodded in response, and got out. Bobby's car was already in the lot, and he was headed for their friend's door instead of their own. Dean frowned and followed him, wondering what else was causing the hunch in his shoulders.

Bobby waved them in when Sam knocked, and the boys leaned on the table as the three of them debriefed. Bobby had been to the main offices to learn what he could, which wasn't much. That still left Blake Allen's roommate and Professor Darren Ray for tomorrow, as far as interviews went.

"Then I say we check out the morgue," Bobby went on. "Mrs. Ray's long since been buried, but the two students are still there—or what's left of them. You boys want to do that, or would you rather take the interviews?"

Dean shrugged, not caring one way or the other, but Sam spoke up. "We'll take the interviews." When they looked at him he explained further. "I think Dean and I should eat breakfast in the cafeteria on campus in the morning; we might overhear something useful." He smirked a little. "And we would blend better there."

"Uh huh," Bobby said dryly.

Dean couldn't help but notice that Sam dropped onto a bed the moment they were back in their own room, but that wasn't his major concern just now.

"So what is it now?"

"What?" Sam asked tiredly.

"Back at the dorm…since then."

"What are you talking about?" he asked again, on his back staring at the ceiling.

Dean shrugged and sat on the edge of the other bed. "With the girl. You were all…weird."

"Weird?"

"Yeah, weird. I mean, I know you're usually the gentle side of the whole questioning thing, but I think that was a few more apologies than is normal even for you, and you _forgot the victims' names_? You never forget stuff like that, and since we left the campus you've seemed a little, I don't know—off."

Sam pushed the heels of his hands over his closed eyes. "Has it occurred to you that I've had a lot on my mind lately?"

"Yeah, but I think it's something else."

"Like what?"

"Well for one thing, I think that chick was into you, and I think you noticed."

Sam sat up, eyes rolling. "Dean, she's grieving. I hardly think she noticed much about either of us."

Dean's mouth curled up a little. "Well she sure noticed enough about you."

His brother seemed to realize where he was going. "We talked about this—"

"I'm not necessarily talking about hooking up, Sam, but you gotta admit she liked you. All of that smiling was definitely in your direction." He leaned forward, resting elbows on his knees. "Come on; you liked her too, didn't you?"

"This is so not the time for this," Sam groaned. He dropped back again.

Dean let out a breath and stood up again. "Why?"

Sam turned on his side and propped his head up so he could still see his brother. "Are you seriously asking that question?"

Dean's jaw clenched. "I know what you're talking about, Sam."

"Then drop it."

"No."

Sam stared at him. "Why not?"

He wasn't sure himself, but he knew he didn't want his brother to be miserable.

"Well...just because you don't exactly have a clean bill of health right now doesn't mean you're denied the privilege of some good company sometimes."

"Excuse me?"

"I don't know, man! Just…if you like her, don't just brush it off."

"I don't like her," Sam answered immediately.

"Sure."

"Dean—"

"Hey, I'm just—"

"I don't like her," he repeated, more forcefully this time. Dean still wasn't convinced, but he moved on anyway—sort of.

"Okay, then what about Sarah? It's been more than a year and you've called her maybe what, twice? I'm sure she wants to see you."

Sam looked at the bedspread. "That's not a good idea, and you know it."

"Why isn't it a good idea? I mean, I'm still saying that we're going to fix this, but that doesn't mean this isn't a good time to go see her." He didn't think about what he meant, or could mean, or what Sam might read from it. He didn't _want _to think about it; he just wanted to make Sam think, before he had regrets later.

Which was something else he didn't want to think about.

Sam only snorted. "Oh, sure it's a good time. I go see her for a while, get her hopes up, only for you to come back a few months later to tell her I'm dead. Brilliant plan."

Dean grimaced, wishing his brother hadn't voiced that part aloud. "That's not going to happen."

He looked up. "And what if it does?"

"We're not talking about that," he answered emphatically.

Sam didn't bother to protest; he'd already been shut down on the issue often enough to know it was useless. He shook his head and looked off. "Anyway…just no. I can't go see Sarah now, and I can't…"

Dean read the rest of his words on his face without having to hear them. _I can't care about anyone else; I can't let anyone else care about me. I can't let anyone else be hurt by this…by what's happening to me._

He hesitated a long moment before saying anything else, trying to decide what he _should_ say. "Would it hurt anybody to take the girl out for coffee or something? She could probably use the company, at least," he said finally.

Sam quickly looked back at him in surprise. "You mean Abby?" he asked.

"Yes, Abby, you idiot."

"Why do you care?"

_Because you're my brother, and I care if you're happy. _"I don't," he lied, shrugging.

"Then why do you keep asking?"

Dean bit back a growl of frustration. "Look, just think about it, okay?"

"Whatever." He turned over and pulled a pillow under his head as if he wanted to sleep right there, in the unbuttoned suit.

"Hey, no sleeping yet. Take your treatment and change first."

Sam grunted in protest, but rose to comply.

Dean wondered if his brother had heard anything he'd said at all.


	12. Chapter 12

All right, school is over Thursday, so no more being slow posting chapters! yay! Except for camp week, of course, but that's not till the end of June. So anyway, here ya go. Let me know what ya think, and have a great day! Thanks so much! :)

Chapter 12

"Why can't I drive?"

"Because _I _want to drive," Dean answered immediately, slamming the motel room door behind them. He headed for the car without looking back.

"Dean, it's all of two miles. Why does it matter?"

"Why does it matter to _you_?"

Sam stopped. "This is because I'm sick, isn't it?"

Dean pulled up abruptly and twisted, throwing his arms out. "Why would you automatically assume that?" But his posture and the look on his face screamed _guilty_.

"Because I know you."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He chose to move on with his argument instead of puzzling up an answer to that one. "I'm not an invalid, Dean. I can still _drive_, for crying out loud." There was no anger this time. He'd been living with this Dean since before they'd left the hospital, and he knew his brother meant well.

But it was still awesomely annoying…and it hurt in a way he didn't want to think about.

"Like I said, maybe I just feel like driving this morning," Dean retorted, looking anywhere but into Sam's face.

"You just feel like driving _two miles_. At seven in the morning. When I could do it," Sam protested.

His brother shifted awkwardly on his feet, and swiftly turned to unlock the car. "Yeah…"

Sam huffed and moved in over Dean's shoulder. "Look me in the _eyes_ and tell me this doesn't have anything to do with my condition."

Dean was silent for a long moment; finally he held up the keys silently, still not looking at him.

"Thank you." Sam snatched them, elbowed his brother away from the driver's side door, and climbed in. "Sometime today, Dean."

Dean grumbled and went around to get in, but he still didn't look happy about it. Thankfully, he seemed to quickly decide to get over—or look like he was over it. By the time they were pulling out he had a new subject to annoy with.

"So, maybe we'll run into Abby."

"I doubt it. Colleges have lots of people," Sam deadpanned.

"This one doesn't have as many as some. It's a definite possibility."

"Uh huh."

Dean grinned. "Come on; you know you wouldn't mind seeing her again."

Sam sighed. Well, no, he wouldn't mind it at all, seeing Abby again. He really wouldn't. But…

"Whatever, Dean."

The student center at Cedarville University that included the dining room was on the edge of the lake that lay in the center of campus, and Dean glanced at the campus map he'd pulled out of his pocket as they climbed out of the car—dressed normally this time—and headed inside.

"Cedarville University in Cedarville, Ohio, and they have to finish it off with Cedarville Lake? Geez…"

"I guess they really like trees," Sam shrugged.

Dean smirked as they made it through the bank of glass doors that led into the building. "Okay…remind me why we're eating in a cafeteria?"

"Incase we overhear something."

"Something like how many cheerleaders got perms over the weekend?"

"I don't know if they have cheerleaders here."

"I'm kidding."

"Yeah, I got that." They fell silent for a moment, crossing the long carpeted lobby to the cafeteria entrance. "Anything could be a clue, remember? Someone could know something that could lead us to the vampire nest, if that's really what we're dealing with here. Someone could have noticed something strange, and this is the place I imagine they'd be talking about it."

Dean nodded. "Exactly. I get it. I'm just not crazy about cafeterias."

"You'll eat whatever's put in front of you," Sam shot back, rolling his eyes. When his brother shrugged, he smiled conspiratorially. "Relax and watch the girls."

"So I'm still allowed to look?" Dean grinned.

"Have at," Sam gestured. Then he lowered his voice even further as they approached the desk. "Discreetly. If that's even possible for you."

Dean elbowed him in retaliation—very lightly, he noticed with annoyance—before he turned to the older man at the desk to pay for their meal before they went in.

The cafeteria was high-ceilinged and open, with half of the walls covered in floor-to-ceiling plate glass windows. It was something of a triangle, with two straight walls were the food lines were. The third side was a series of short, straight walls in a staggered pattern he'd noticed from the outside of the building; those walls were the windows.

"Okay…so it's kinda nice," Dean admitted as they found a table—after waiting for a few minutes in one of the several lines. "Lines not bad, but could be better, though yeah….I guess the place isn't so bad. The deciding factor will be the food."

Sam settled by a window at the end of a table, and Dean went around to sit across from him. Dean dug in immediately, so Sam waited to see what his opinion of the food would be.

"Definitely not bad," he said around a mouthful of scrambled eggs. Sam smirked and started on his own food.

He'd only gotten a few bites in before Abby passed their table.

It was all his own fault, really, what happened after that. He coughed in surprise, nearly choking on the bite of pancake in his mouth, and noise was probably what made her stop. She looked around, probably trying to make sure whoever it was was all right, and spotted him—them.

"Sam?" Dean was reacting.

"Are you okay?" Abby asked at the same time.

"Yeah! Uh…yeah…" Sam winced, clearing his throat. "I'm fine. Thanks."

"Good…" Abby said, and then frowned in confusion. "Hey…aren't you the FBI agents that talked to me yesterday?"

"Yeah," Sam confirmed, unsure of how else to handle this.

The girl looked at him, eyes narrowed in though. "Mayers and…Duncan, right?" she asked, glancing back at Dean, too, for confirmation."

Dean nodded quickly, and flashed her a grin. "Yes, indeed. But hey, we're not quite on duty yet. Please, call me Dean. That's Sam."

"Right. Okay…Dean. Sam. It's nice to see you again, I suppose." She glanced around again, uneasily this time. "Hey…do you mind if I sit here?"

Sam started to say no, that wouldn't be a good idea, but his brother chimed in before he could get it out—maybe, he thought later, because part of him didn't want it to get out.

"Not at all! Have a seat."

"Thanks," she smiled. Abby was on Sam's side of the table, and she set her tray down and sat beside him. "I'm sorry; I don't mean to impose, I just—"

"Not imposing."

"This is the first time I've been in the cafeteria since…well…and I'm not sure I could handle sitting with my friends just yet. I have no idea what they'll try to talk about, and I know things will be weird when I do go back, and…anyway, I was looking for a table by myself today."

Sam couldn't help but feel for her there. "It's all right; I think I understand."

Abby smiled brightly at him in thanks, and he found himself smiling back, just like yesterday. He chose to ignore the smirk Dean was sending his way.

"So, what brings the two of you _here_ for breakfast?"

Sam shrugged. "We thought it was possible we might overhear something in here that could help on the case, but I don't think we can tell you any more than that." There went the role-playing again. Sometimes it sucked.

"Oh…"

"Sorry. Uhm…how are you doing, otherwise?"

Dean did exactly what Sam suspected he would do. He backed off and let Sam and Abby have most of the conversation. She didn't seem to mind, and Sam didn't either—except for the fact that he knew what his brother was trying to do.

He couldn't decide whether it was a good thing or a bad thing that it was working.

"Okay, I'm done. I'll head out to the car," Dean announced finally.

Sam glanced over at him curiously. "You're _done_?"

"Dude, we've been here more then forty-five minutes. I've been back to the line like three times."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh," Dean snorted, standing up with his tray of empty plates. "Anyway, come out when you're ready to go. We've got work to do today. No rush, though," he grinned.

"Uh huh." He was gone quickly, against his younger brother's protests, and Sam sighed and looked back down at his half-eaten plate of cold food. He quickly scooped up the rest, while Abby did the same from her own plate.

"So you should go?" she asked.

"Yeah, probably. We do have a lot of work ahead of us."

"Right," she nodded. "And is there any of that you can tell me about?"

Sam winced. "As soon as we know what happened, you'll know something. I can promise you that." Only _something_, because he probably wouldn't be able to tell her the truth—not if it was a nest of vampires doing the killing.

Abby sighed as he stood and picked up his tray. "Okay. Thanks."

Sam nodded, and he thought that was it, but then he heard her pipe up again just as he turned to go.

"Sam?"

He turned back. "What?"

"You don't have to work all day, do you?"

He looked at her curiously. "I guess not…why?" _You should have said yes! Or 'pretty much,' or something! No telling what can of worms you're opening now…_

Abby smiled sheepishly. "Well, I…was wondering something."

"Like what?" There he went, smiling back again.

"Ah, well there's a little coffee place, downstairs here in this building. I'm usually there late in the afternoons. I thought I'd start going back today. Maybe if you're not working then…you could join me?"

Dean's voice echoed in the back of his mind. _Would it hurt anybody to take the girl out for coffee or something? She could probably use the company, at least_.

Maybe…maybe he was right.

"I…ah…okay," he said, before he could change his mind.

"Really?"

"Sure," Sam sighed. "Why not? What time are you there?"

"Usually around five."

He smiled briefly. "All right. Maybe I'll see you there then."

"Maybe?" An eyebrow went up.

"It'll still depend on what my partner and I are doing…"

"Of course. Okay…"

"Okay."

Then Sam dropped his tray off and left quickly, wondering what in the world he'd just gotten himself into.

* * *

Sitting alone in the Impala waiting for his brother, Dean couldn't help but wonder if he'd done the right thing when they'd left the motel.

He could have lied. He could have looked Sam in the eyes and told him that his condition had nothing to do with the fact that he hadn't thought to let Sam drive…that it didn't have anything to do with a lot of things he thought these days.

But, of course, it wouldn't have been true.

Instead he'd handed the keys over, backing down from the challenge, and Dean knew what he'd been saying by doing it. He'd been admitting to the worry, admitting that to him things were very different now. He'd known Sam suspected that, even after the compromise they'd made, but now he knew for sure. He had to know now.

It wouldn't make things any easier, but at least that was one less lie. Maybe they would both keep pretending normalcy for a while, and maybe that was all right for now…but at least it was one less lie.

He still wasn't sure how he felt about that.

Sam didn't look so good when he finally made his way out and climbed into the Impala beside his brother, and Dean looked at him in curiously.

"Sammy? You okay?"

"Yeah…" he frowned.

"Then what is it?"

He took a breath. "I think I just agreed to meet Abby for coffee this afternoon."

Dean grinned, relief washing away the concern. "Well that's great."

"No, it isn't," Sam protested.

"Why the hell would you say that?"

"I don't know! I just...you heard what I said last night…"

"Yeah, I heard you," Dean admitted. "Didn't you hear what _I_ said?"

"Yes, but—"

Dean held up a finger. "No buts. It'll be fine; it's just coffee, remember?"

Sam sighed. "Fine…"

"Good. Now we're going to find that other kid, and that professor, talk to them, check out the place where the bodies were found and meet up with Bobby, and have you back here by what time?"

"About five?"

"_About_ five?" he questioned.

Sam shrugged. "It's more of a she's-going-to-be-there-anyway thing."

"Ah. Okay. Well, ya gotta start somewhere."

"Shut up."

* * *

After heading back to the motel to don the suits again, it took time to track down Blake Allen's roommate. He didn't give them any more information than Abby had. After that it was off to find the professor.

They didn't have to look farther than his office to find Professor Jarran Ray—a fit, middle-aged African-American man with graying hair that didn't quite reach his forehead anymore.

"I don't know that I can tell you anything that might help. Everything is already in the police report. I don't know what happened; I just came home that night, and she was…on the floor…in the kitchen…"

Dean watched Sam give his usual sympathetic wince. "Sir, we know this is hard for you, but anything you can remember…"

"I really can't remember anything else," the man admitted.

"You're certain?" Dean pressed.

"It's all a blur, really."

"Right." He tried to keep the automatic skepticism from his voice, because he knew Sam would bag him for it later, but a little of it slipped out anyway. Sam shot him a look right on cue.

"What about Blake and Kaylah? Did you know them at all?" Sam asked.

Ray nodded slowly. "I certainly did. They were both in one of my classes this semester. They were two of my best students…" He shook his head sadly. "I just don't understand what's happening here."

"Well, that's what we're trying to find out," Dean said. "So, Blake Allen and Kaylah Bowman…did you happen to notice anything in the days before their desks? Anything out of the ordinary? Maybe they were acting strangely? Skittish? Was there anything different at all?"

"Not that I can recall, no. Why do you ask?"

"Standard procedure."

"I see…" The professor trailed off, looking at them strangely. For reasons he couldn't put a finger on, Dean's hackles went up. They quickly deflated when the man shook it off and sat up a little straighter, but he couldn't get rid of the feeling.

* * *

Bobby met the boys—who were already back in their own clothes--for a late lunch in the diner in town, and they all kept to a secluded corner booth to avoid anyone overhearing their case conversation.

"Well those poor kids were bled out all right, but the wounds are inconsistent. I'm not sure it's vampires we're dealing with here," he reported immediately.

"Aww damn, really? I wanted to kick some vampire ass," Dean grumbled.

"Wouldn't that be 'neck' instead? You have to cut their heads off, after all," Sam retorted.

"Doesn't matter; you wouldn't be doing it either way," Dean snapped back.

Sam frowned and sat back on the bench, crossing his arms, obviously not happy with the reminder of their deal—the one Dean had let Bobby in on before they'd left his place the morning before. He had to admit it was a good compromise, and it kept him from worrying as much as he might have otherwise.

Still, Sam didn't seem entirely satisfied with it, and Bobby couldn't help but worry about him anyway.

The three of them exchanged the rest of the information they'd gathered so far that day, but they didn't seem to have anything workable until Dean stopped short with an exclamation.

"'Hey' what?" Sam frowned.

"Didn't that professor guy say that both of those students were in one of his classes? I think he even said they were two of his best," Dean said quickly.

"Yeah…I think he said that. Why?"

"That makes him connected to all three victims."

Realization dawned on Sam's face, and Bobby now saw where they were going, too. "You think we should keep an eye on this guy."

"I sure do. If he's not in danger himself, he might _be_ the thing we're looking for."

Sam scoffed. "You don't think that guy is—"

"Stranger things have happened," Dean shrugged. "Either way, whether he's a suspect or he needs to be protected from whatever this is…we should keep an eye on him."

Bobby nodded. "Agreed. Now have you checked out the place where the bodies were found?"

"Not yet," Sam answered.

"Then finish up your lunch, boys; we've got work to do."

The spillway was small, and one couldn't even stand up under the walkway over it. Now that he saw that, Bobby doubted the murders had actually taken place here. Rather, whatever had done it had wanted the bodies found, more than likely. He couldn't imagine why, but there were plenty of things out there that liked to show off their work.

The grass around the area had been cut and sprayed, but some of it was still tinted red, and the dried blood hadn't been quite washed from the concrete yet. They tried to pick up a trail in the grass, but it only led them down the hill to a gravel road before they lost it. From there, there were too many patterns and ruts in the path and the mud and the gravel to make any distinction between them.

"Okay…so that helped us absolutely none," Dean commented in annoyance.

The three of them ended up in the boys' motel room, Dean flipping channels and Sam buried in his computer looking for possibilities while Bobby made phone calls and sometimes glanced at whatever Dean wasn't really watching.

"Sam, get your nose out of the internet," Dean said finally. "It's past four."

Bobby glanced up from the notes in front of him, curious.

"So?" Sam replied absently.

"So, you've got a date at five, stupid."

Bobby blinked. "A what?"

Sam answered quickly, still not looking up from his computer—though now it appeared to be from embarrassment. "It's not a date. It's just the girl we interviewed yesterday; the roommate…"

"Who asked Sammy here out for coffee," Dean grinned.

"I see," he answered, feigning disinterest. He stood, shuffling his notes together. "Ah, Dean, could you help me bring a few things in here from the other room? We should probably keep our research materials together."

The older Winchester looked over and frowned a little, but he stood slowly. "Sure." But Dean knew Bobby didn't want to do anything with any books, and he let him know it as soon as Bobby's motel room door next door was closed behind them.

"Okay, so what is it now?"

"What's going on with this girl?"

"Nothing; she just asked him for coffee, and he's going." It wasn't a question.

Bobby grimaced. "Dean…"

The older Winchester became defensive immediately. "What? Do you have a problem with that?"

"I have a problem with you encouraging him."

"He never would have agreed if I hadn't been ribbing him about her since we talked to her. It was pretty obvious she liked him from the start, and I mean, he deserves a little happiness, don't you think?"

He held up a hand. "I'm not arguing with that, Dean, because you're right, but…I'm not sure if this is the right way to make that happen."

Dean scowled. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Dean, you know how likely that boy is to get emotionally attached. It's just the way he is," Bobby sighed. "If that happens, anything could follow. He might feel like he has to tell her the truth about his condition, at the very least, but he won't want to hurt her, and that could open the door to any number of hurts for _him_."

"Bobby, we talked about this. We both agreed that it's just for good company. Hey, I even agreed not to try to hook up while we're here—Christian university, and all that. We get it. You don't have anything to worry about."

He eyed the younger man skeptically. "I'm sure you think so, but just be careful, all right? Watch out for your brother."

Dean sighed, and the defensiveness and annoyance fell away. "For once you don't have to tell me twice."

Bobby nodded, and the two of them grabbed a few of his books from the desk in the room to bring back, to keep up their ruse. But Sam was in the shower when they returned, so it wouldn't have mattered anyway.


	13. Chapter 13

Sorry ya'll, was at a friend's house all this week, but camp later this month is the only other trip like that all summer, so more time for writing and shorter waits for ya'll! I'm also hoping to start on that sort-of sequal to Time's Redemption soon. Anyway, sorry again, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. :) I can't wait to hear what ya'll think; have a great day! Thanks so much for reading!

Chapter 13

The open coffee shop area on the lower floor of the split-level Stephens Student Center was at the base of a wide flight of stairs that led up to the cafeteria where Sam and Dean had eaten that morning. Sam came in through another bank of glass doors just across from the base of those stairs, and took in the coffee counter and the arrangement of tables, armchairs, couches, and coffee tables.

It took a moment to spot Abby, because she'd pulled her hair up into a short bob of a ponytail since he'd seen her that morning. She was curled up on one of the couches on the far end of the room, reading.

Sam shoved his hands in his pockets and weaved his way to her, already a little uneasy. "Hey," he said to announce himself.

Abby looked up from the book after a moment. "Hey." She set the book down and unfolded herself to stand. "Let's get some coffee."

"You haven't ordered any yet?"

She shrugged. "I was hoping for company," she said as he followed her to the counter. She glanced back and grinned. "Word on the street was I wouldn't be drinking my coffee alone today."

Sam chuckled lightly, and in a fit of chivalry he picked up his pace and made it to the counter first, telling the young man there that their order was together and he would be taking care of it. Abby gave him a look, but didn't comment until they had their drinks, he'd paid, and they were turning away from the counter again.

"You didn't have to do that," she said immediately. "After all, _I'm_ the one who asked _you_ meet me here."

"What? Can't a guy be nice?"

Abby raised an eyebrow at him. "That depends," she said, and smiled. "Am I supposed to be reading something from said simple kind gesture?"

Sam felt his own warm smile wanting to falter, but he held it in place and did allow his head to duck. "I'm not sure…" he admitted honestly. He just hoped the truth wouldn't put their meeting off to an immediately awkward start.

Thankfully, Abby didn't stop smiling. Instead her hand on his elbow guided him firmly back to the couch she'd been sitting on when he walked in. "It's fine, Sam, and thank you. Come on, sit." She perched on one end of the couch, and Sam lowered himself to the cushions on the far end.

"You're welcome…" he said, in bashful response to her thanks.

They both gulped at their coffee for a moment.

"So…any luck today, Agent Mayers?" Abby asked.

Sam shrugged. "Not a whole lot, but we might have a lead. Again, that's really all I can say."

"I understand," she sighed.

He studied her for a long moment. "How have you been doing? Really?"

It was Abby who shrugged now, shaking her head. "I don't know. I really will be all right, but I just…I don't understand. I wish I knew why these things happen." She grimaced. "It's not the first time."

His eyebrows went up. "Not the first time people were killed on this campus?" He hadn't come across anything like that in his research…

She shook her head again. "No, no. I'm sure this is the first time _that's_ happened, thank goodness. I mean…" She took a steadying breath. "I mean I've lost a close friend before."

"Oh…" The pang in his chest had nothing to do with his damaged heart and lungs. "I'm so sorry."

"Thanks…It was a couple of years ago. I'm all right, I guess. I just never expected anything like that to happen again."

Sam nodded silently. A couple of years could help, true…but he knew it still hurt. He also knew that going through something so horrible didn't mean one was immune to going through it again.

Abby held up her coffee cup as if to punctuate a thought. "But I've still got Michelle and Cody here." Cody, he remembered, was the roommate of the other victim—the young man they'd talked to earlier today.

"They're not the only ones, either," she continued. "And we've only got a few weeks left here. Then I'll be home, for a while, anyway. I have a lot of friends back there who never left. They either started working or went to community college. As long as I've got them, I'll be all right." The corner of her mouth curled up. "I don't guess you really want to hear about the other reasons I know I'll be okay."

His head tilted to the side a bit in pretext to the ambiguous answer that was the only one he had. "Well…I've never been a regular churchgoer, but I guess you could say I believe…sort of. I know what you're talking about, anyway."

"Well then. That gives you a few points," Abby grinned.

"Thanks, I guess?"

She laughed for a moment, and she wore a wistful smile when she quieted. "Huh…it's been a week or so," she admitted. Since she'd _really_ done that, she meant. Sam understood.

Abby sat up and took a sip of coffee. "Anyway. I didn't ask you here to bring you down with all this. I'm fine, really. Why don't you tell me a little more about yourself? I'll reciprocate, I promise."

"Well, as long as you promise…"

It took a lot of editing, as it always did, but there was enough to tell to keep a good conversation going, and he knew he was enjoying it. They were there more than an hour later, cold empty cups still clasped in their hands.

"Stanford? Really? I wanted to go Ivy League when I was a kid. Then I found this place. I actually had a friend who went to Stanford though…" Abby trailed off.

"Had? They graduated already?"

A small, sad smile. "She would have, or would be soon; I'm not sure. We were a lot closer in high school than we ever were once we went our separate ways for college. I regret that now."

Sam's face fell. "Did something happen to her?" he asked tightly. He told himself this wasn't going where part of him thought it was. The world couldn't be that small.

Abby nodded once. "That's who I was talking about before, yeah," she sighed. "It was so…out of the blue, just like this. There was some kind of fire in her apartment building…and I'm not even sure they ever nailed down the source. One day I'm still waiting for her to answer the first e-mail I'd sent her in weeks, and the next I'm getting a call from her sister."

He felt like he'd been sucker-punched. He had to fight keep his face from registering the shock. "Jessica," he said, before he realized he'd spoken the name aloud.

Abby blinked at him. "What?"

Sam swallowed hard, avoiding her eyes. "I uh…I was still at Stanford…then. I remember that accident happening." _Much too vividly._ "I actually…I'd met her. Jessica, I mean. Jessica Moore."

She stared at him, digesting that. "Yeah. That was her. Wow…I…that's weird."

"You're telling me."

She swallowed once. "So…how well did you know her?"

Best not to get into the details. "We were…in the same circle of friends," he answered vaguely. It wasn't a lie—a gross understatement; a major fudge of omission, for certain—but not a lie.

Abby still seemed almost as shell-shocked as he. "Oh…then…do you know whatever happened to her boyfriend? I never met him, but I tried to get in touch after what happened…to check on him…but by the time I got around to that he'd disappeared. That's what Jess's other friends said, anyway. All they knew was that he left with his brother…took some time off, but then he never came back. I never did get in touch. I felt so horrible about that."

Sam didn't trust himself to say anything just yet, so he only shrugged and shook his head.

"Oh…okay." She tried a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about it. It's been an unsolved mystery for two years; I guess we'll be all right if it stays that way."

He couldn't help but smile some at her attempt to lighten the mood again. It was working a little. "Yeah." But he knew he couldn't stay here—not tonight, not right now. It wasn't Abby's fault, but he had to get out of here.

Sam slid almost off the couch, barely perching on the edge. "Anyway, I should probably go. My partner and I'll have a lot to do tomorrow."

She sighed. "All right. Well…will you be back for breakfast tomorrow?"

"Ah…" He knew he shouldn't say yes. It was a bad idea. But looking at her, he couldn't say no. "Sure. Probably."

"Good," she smiled. This time the smile seemed more personal than usual; this time, knowing what they knew, it meant a lot more.

Sam left feeling shaky, and had to stop just outside the building, hands gripping the back of a bench set in the grass near the lake. For a moment his vision faded out, and he had to focus to breathe.

"Sam?"

He spun, and the bench was the only thing that kept him from toppling over. "Abby?" He hadn't expected her to come out so soon.

"Are you all right?" she frowned.

"Yeah, yeah…just trying to remember where I parked," he covered quickly. He smiled sheepishly and headed up the hill to the parking lot before she could suspect anything, and when he glanced back she was walking the other way, in the direction of the dorms.

She glanced back and caught his eyes, and he turned away and hurried on as fast as he could without his chest complaining.

By the time he made it back to the motel, his chest hurt anyway. The fact that he'd been breathing heavily almost since he'd left the student center probably had something to do with that. He hadn't meant to start, and was trying to stop, but his mind was spinning.

Dean adopted that worried look the moment Sam came in, but he couldn't help that. He dropped onto the edge of the first bed, his, and his brother was at his side in a moment.

"Sam? Are you okay? What happened?"

He shook his head. "Nothing _happened_. It was fine. It's just…" His head dropped into his hands. "God, what's going on?"

"What?"

"We got to talking, and…Dean…she knew Jessica. She's the one that brought it up, even, because she was saying that she didn't understand why she had to go through losing a friend again, or something like that. She knew Jess. They were friends in high school."

Dean sank onto the edge of the bed beside him. "Okay…yeah, that's weird."

"I _knew_ her name sounded familiar, the first time I saw it in that folder. I ignored the feeling then."

"Sam…things like this happen. Why do you look so freaked out? It's just a coincidence."

"If it was just this, sure, but just a couple of weeks ago there was that girl in Mississippi. That was a pretty big coincidence, too," he swallowed, looking up at his brother.

Dean frowned, trying to remember. "The kid with the name? Okay, so that's two freaky coincidences in two weeks. We've seen stranger. It's nothing."

He barely registered the fact that one of his hands was fisting unconsciously in his shirt as he shook his head in answer. "No…I don't think so. What's going on?" he repeated.

"_Nothing_ is going on," Dean answered firmly, resting a hand tightly on his shoulder. "Take it easy."

Sam barely heard him. "It's like…something's trying to tell me something…or tell _us_ something. I don't kn—" He stopped abruptly when his air ran out, and he realized he wasn't getting any more.

"Sam!" Dean grabbed his arm and pounded his back with the hand that had been on Sam's shoulder, and after a few seconds he was able to pull in a sudden breath. That was followed by a careful, burning slow one that assured him his lungs were cooperating again.

"I'm sorry…" he grimaced, rubbing his chest.

Dean's arm squeezed his shoulders once before Dean stood, huffing. "You gotta stop seeing stuff where there's nothing to see, man," he sighed. "You can't get freaked out over nothing. Hell, we both know you don't need to be gettin' freaked out by _anything_ right now."

"I said I was sorry."

"I know, I know. I know you're sorry. Just…remember that you promised to be careful, okay? You've gotta be careful."

"I know."

Dean nodded, calming down along with him. "Good. Good." He pulled out the desk chair and straddled it. "So…besides the weird coincidence thing…how was it?"

Sam sighed weakly. "I told you; it was fine."

Dean stared at him.

"It was…nice."

His brother rolled his eyes and gave up trying to score any details—gave up for now, anyway. "See? Wasn't such a bad idea, was it?"

"I guess not," he admitted. It hadn't been. It really hadn't been bad at all. He knew he was still a little shaken over this newest information, but…he knew it didn't change his perception of Abby at all. The connection wasn't her fault, and...it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It was just surprising, was all.

Maybe Dean was right. Maybe the coincidence was nothing. Maybe he _was _overreacting...

Dean nodded. "So stop freakin' out."

"Yeah...sure."

The knock on the door brought Dean up out of his chair, and it was Bobby waiting outside.

"You boys all right? I heard Sam pull in pretty sharp out there..."

"Everything's fine, Bobby," Sam nodded, from where he still sat on the bed.

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, he's fine—just got a little spooked."

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Spooked?"

When his brother glanced back at him Sam shrugged in permission, and Dean explained. "Apparently he just found out this girl knew Jessica pretty close," he said quietly.

Now both eyebrows went up. "Sam?"

"I'm fine," he repeated. "It's just a coincidence." He still wasn't sure he believed that, but there was no use worrying about it now. There was no way to know.

Bobby sighed. "All right...well..." He looked back and forth between both boys. "I don't guess you've really eaten; I can order pizza."

Sam let out a breath. "Yeah...that sounds good right about now."

He knew he could use the comfort food; now that he was past the panicked confusion, he could think. Dean _was_ right…he really had enjoyed himself, and…he knew he liked Abby. And what had happened wasn't her fault, but…

That didn't change the fact that, if it was true, if she had known Jessica…he couldn't do this.

* * *

By the time they made it to breakfast the next morning, Sam really did seem all right—if, maybe, it was a little bit forced. He smiled easily at Abby when she appeared at their table again, and didn't flinch when she started some sort of apology about the night before.

"What? Don't...apologize for that. It doesn't matter. It's fine, really. If anything, I...guess it gives us more to talk about. Sometime."

Abby smiled sheepishly. "I guess so."

Sam shrugged. "Yeah...and besides...I really did have a good time last night."

"Me too," Abby answered.

Dean was glad to hear it from both of them, but the way they kept smiling at each other was about to drive him insane.

"Hey...you guys had to talk to Cody too, right?" she asked later.

"Uhm...yeah," Sam answered in confusion.

"So you know what he looks like."

"Right," Dean confirmed. "And?"

"Have you seen him? I've been trying to get a hold of him since yesterdy afternoon. I haven't seen him, and he's not answering his phone."

Dean exchanged a glance with his brother. _A sign of more trouble_? the expression on his face read. Dean shrugged, and Sam answered the question.

"No...we haven't seen him."

Abby sighed. "I know Cody's still upset, but he never stopped answering his cell phone before now..."

"Because I didn't accidently let my phone die before yesterday."

Dean looked up sharply, saw Sam do the same. Abby jumped and twisted around.

Cody Woodrow was right behind her.

"Sorry; didn't mean to scare you guys," he said immediately.

"Cody, for crying out loud..." Abby growled. The young man took a seat beside her.

"Hey...aren't these the FBI guys?" he asked.

"That's us," Dean agreed enthusiastically.

Cody glanced at Abby. "What are they doing in here?"

"They're here to spy on us," she said mischievously.

Sam smirked. "That was yesterday. Today it's just that the food was decent and decently priced."

"Oh, that's _all_?" Abby asked.

Sam didn't say anything in response to that, but his face answered for him--most likely against Sam's will. Dean couldn't help but smirk in happy amusement. He was sure he'd found a way to keep his brother content for as long as they were here in Ohio.

Then breakfast ended, and his hopes were sent packing again.

He saw Abby stop Sam, and hung back just close enough to pick up the conversation.

"So...I know things might be a little weird now, but...you were right, when you said we have more to talk about now. I mean, we don't have to. But we could. Or not." She took a breath. "Either way, ah...do you think we could try that coffee thing again this afternoon?"

Huh...it seemed Abby wasn't much more comfortable around the opposite sex than Sam was. Perfect couple, those two--one more reason he didn't understand what he heard next.

"Abby...listen. I wasn't lying; I had a good time last night, but...I don't think doing it again would be a good idea."

Dean focused out the window, pretending he couldn't hear, pretending he was only waiting. He resisted the urge to spin around and look. _What??_

Abby was apparently thinking the same thing. "What?" she said, echoing his thoughts. "Why not?"

"Because...I'm pretty sure we'll be finished here soon. Then my partner and I'll have to leave, and..." Out of the corner of his eye Dean saw his brother shrug.

"I know that, and I understand. I just wanted to have another chance to talk to you--"

"I'm sorry; I don't think I'll have time..."

No one else would have picked up on it, but Dean heard the tension in his brother's voice clear as day. Sam didn't want to be doing this.

So why the hell was he doing it?

Dean knew he would barge into the conversation if he stayed where he was, so he headed out. He waited out on the sidewalk and caught Sam's arm when he came out a few moments later, shoulders slumped and hands shoved in his pockets.

"Hey. What was that?"

"Whoa—! Dean. Oh. What?"

"What was that?" he repeated.

"What was what?"

"That with Abby! I thought you were okay about last night."

"I am," he shrugged. "I'm fine about it. I'm glad I went."

"Then what'd you break up with her for?"

Sam stared at him like he was crazy. "Dean, there was nothing to break up. We had coffee _once_."

"Well why not do it again?"

His brother huffed. "If you heard enough to be asking me about this, then you heard what I told her." But he didn't seem ticked off about it.

"Yeah, I heard plenty."

"Then why are you still asking questions? You know it was the right thing to do, Dean. It would have been wrong to lead her on. I wouldn't do that to her."

Why did Sam have to be so dense? "She said she understood that you'd have to leave! Why skip the chance just to hang out again? Maybe there wouldn't be any point to that for me, but you're different."

"Maybe." He sighed and looked away. "But it's not about me."

"Sam—" he protested.

"That's it, Dean. I told her that it's nothing personal, but I won't have a chance to spend any more time with her. She understands."

He sighed. "Yeah...I know she understands. She's that kind of girl. That doesn't mean she's not hurt."

"Not hurt, Dean, just disappointed, probably, though I hate even that. She could have been hurt if I'd waited. This way, it's just coffee. There's nothing more involved, and there's no hard feelings. That's the way I want it." But his eyes told much more than he probably wanted to admit even to himself...and what they told wholly contradicted the last thing he said.

Sam didn't give his brother time to respond. He turned and headed for the car, leaving Dean to kick himself for creating another mess.

* * *

The original plan had been to spend the day tailing Professor Ray, while Bobby tooled around for any further information and checked out the man's house while the boys kept an eye on him. Instead, the first half of the day was spent in a fruitless search for the professor. He was nowhere to be found, and soon the rest of the campus realized it, too.

With the whereabouts of Professor Ray unknown, there was no way they could search the house. There was no way to make certain that he wasn't coming back. They took to the sewers instead, searching for any clue at all. If there was no vampire nest, down there was as good a place as any for whatever-else to hide its sorry ass. Dean was already reluctantly admitting that he suspected a shapeshifter, after the encounter with the professor.

"And damnit, if that's what it is, we could have been telling the thing we were hunting it," he mentioned at one point. Sam didn't like the fact that he was probably right.

"Maybe we should hit the professor's house tonight anyway," Dean said as the three hunters climbed out of the sewers that afternoon, shoes wet and no closer to finding what they were looking for.

Bobby nodded slowly. "Even if the thing's not there anymore, we might find something."

"Sure," Sam nodded.

Dean skewered him with a look as they split from Bobby and made their way back to their respective vehicles, parked in a gravel lot behind one of the buildings on the edge of the campus near where they'd entered the sewers. "And you're not coming."

"Dean—!"

"We've already had this argument more than once, Sammy."

Sam huffed, not even bothering to argue this time. It wouldn't help. Besides that, they weren't even certain there was anything in that house. If they'd been sure, he probably would have argued more.

At least Dean had let him in the sewers with them.

"Fine, but I'm not sitting in the motel room either. I'll come and wait in the car."

"Sam—"

"Compromise, Dean."

His brother rolled his eyes, and finally pulled open his door and climbed in. Sam slid in beside him, just as Dean sighed. "All right."

"Good."

Dean raised an eyebrow at him. "So being reduced to driving the getaway car seems better to you than just sitting out?"

"Yep." He would feel like he was doing _something_, anyway. As long as he didn't feel completely useless, he could deal.

As long as he was doing something—or felt like he was doing something—he wouldn't be able to think.

"Suit yourself," Dean shrugged.


	14. Chapter 14

Here ya go; enjoy, and let me know what ya think. :) Thanks so much ya'll! And for those of you who haven't heard, I started the sequal to Time's Redemption. The title is Time's Lessons, and I posted the first chapter a couple of days ago. I should have chapter two up by the end of the weekend. :)

Chapter 14

"If you're checking the house out anyway, why do you want to check the spillway again?" Sam asked, following Dean and Bobby down the hill on Cedarville's campus.

"The spillway, _and_ the woods. We could have missed something…I just like to know as much as I can," Dean shrugged.

Sam glanced at Bobby, who shrugged too, and Sam pulled up short as the other two stopped at the railing and hopped down into the spillway again. He glanced up at the student center across the water before he was sure why. "I don't guess you need me then…"

Dean looked back curiously. "I don't know; why?"

He only gestured vaguely toward the building, but Dean seemed to understand.

"Oh…sure. Yeah. Go on," he said quietly.

Sam nodded. "I'll…be right back." He tracked back to the top of the hill and took the sidewalk around the edge of Cedarville Lake until he reached the student center. It was almost dark, and nearly seven. Abby might have left, but there was still the chance she was in there, reading a book even if she'd long-since finished her coffee.

The sidewalks were nearly abandoned in the dying light, and he leaned against the bench he'd almost collapsed on the night before, wondering if he even had any right to go in…after what he'd said that morning. He'd been more than nice about it, and at the time he'd meant it.

Now he wasn't so certain anymore. He wanted to see Abby.

Even if it was only to say goodbye again.

Sam was saved the trouble of deciding whether or not go in; Abby came out herself moments later, giving him an odd sense of déjà vu.

"Sam…"

She had stopped short just outside the glass doors, and Sam straightened quickly. "Abby. Hi."

She smiled uncertainly. "I wasn't expecting to see you here." The smile faded. "I wasn't sure I'd see you again at all."

He winced. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, but it's just that with this job there's a lot of, you know, moving around, and…"

"I know," Abby sighed. Almost tentatively, she closed the distance and looked up at him, arms wrapped around a book she held against her chest. "So you're leaving soon then?"

Sam shrugged. "As early as in the morning, maybe." _If we find that thing and kill it tonight._

"You said you would tell me what happened to my friends."

"We will; we'll contact you as soon as we catch what—whoever did this."

"So they're not around here anymore."

"We don't think so," he lied. _At least not in the same form, probably,_ he filled in.

Abby nodded silently in understanding and stared past him at the lake for a moment. "So…you came to say goodbye."

Sam sighed. He hadn't been sure before what he was here for, but she was right.

It was really the only thing he could do.

"Yeah."

Abby didn't respond, and suddenly Sam's shoes were just as interesting to him as the lake was to her. For several long minutes there was nothing but silence, but when Sam dared to glance up again she to was looking at him. He stared back, for a moment.

Then Abby was up on her toes, kissing him, and he was returning it.

It only lasted a moment before she jerked away, a hand flying to her mouth. The hand Sam had brought to the back of her neck landed around her arm.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry! I've never done that before, I swear!"

"Whoa, whoa, it's all right…" Sam assured her, suddenly smiling.

"It is?" she asked, still a little wide eyed.

He chuckled once. "I'm sure. We're not in high school, Abby; it's fine."

She swallowed. "I don't know why I did that. I didn't even know if…if you felt that way…"

Sam winced again. "I still have to leave."

"I know…" The way she was looking at him told her it hurt, but that right now she didn't care.

Well…maybe he didn't, either.

"Come here." With the hand he still had on her sleeve Sam gently pulled her back to him, and slid that arm around her waist. After she dropped the book on the bench, Abby's arms came up around his neck when he kissed her again, and his other hand swept her hair out of her face and rested against her cheek.

This kiss lasted much longer. The only thing that stopped them was his cell phone ringing insistently from his pocket.

He smirked against Abby's cheek before pulling partially away to pull out the phone. "Sorry. Real romantic, huh?"

"A fed's gotta do what a fed's gotta do," she snickered, pulling her arms down to rest at his waist.

Sam smiled back, and flipped open the phone with a sigh when he spotted Dean's number. "What is it, Dean? I'm a little busy."

"_Then you'd better wrap it up, Sam. We've got problems. We're in the woods, and that thing is down here._"

He frowned, and politely extracted himself from Abby to walk a few steps away. "What?"

"_It didn't shift out here, but there are definitely a few stray globs of goop that tell me this is a shapeshifter. We just didn't go far enough in to see them before, after there was nothing at the spillway but the blood_."

His brother's voice was low and hushed, and he'd barely picked most of those words out. "Okay, so get out of there, and let's go find the thing," he answered quietly, aware of Abby not far behind him.

"_No, Sam, I mean it's _here_—down here with me and Bobby. I know it. It's probably been watching us._"

Sam's eyebrows went up to his hairline. "All the more reason to get out of there!" he hissed.

"_No, I think we can take it, but I need you back at the car and ready in case—_"

"In case _what_?"

"_I don't know! I don't want you down here, and you know why, but I'll call you back if I have to. besides, if this thing gets past us I don't want you without a way to defend yourself. Now get back to the car, get a gun, and make sure you're loaded up on silver bullets_."

"Dean—" He wanted to help, if the thing was right down there in the woods with them. He could see the spillway from here, and they couldn't be far beyond that…just outside the reaches of the campus.

"_I've got to go; I think we're close_—" Dean cut off again, but this time Sam heard a loud grunt and a heavy thud to go with it.

"Dean?" Nothing. "Dean! Dean, answer me!"

Abby was at his side in a moment. "What is it?"

"Dean!" Still nothing.

"Sam, what is it!" she repeated.

Sam snapped the phone shut. "I have to go. Stay here. Or…no. Don't stay here. Go back to your dorm, and stay there."

She stared at him. "What?"

"It might not be safe out here!"

"I thought you said the guy wasn't around here anymore!"

"Well—I—we were wrong. Please, just get inside, somewhere…"

"Where are you going?"

Sam shoved his phone back in his pocket and took off back around the sidewalk loop, shouting behind him. "Get inside! Go to your dorm room and lock the door behind you!" With a shapeshifter that could look like anyone, it was the only place he could think of that might really keep her safe.

It was dark now, the street lights and stars giving the only illumination as Sam ran back to the last place he'd seen his brother, wishing he already had a gun. He hadn't thought he would need it; they were only checking out the spillway again. They weren't sitting outside the professor's house.

The grunt and the thump replayed over and over in his mind, narrowing his sight to tunnel vision until he made it past the spillway and down the hill to the edge of the woods. He'd taken it too fast; his chest ached sharply, but he ignored it.

When he got there Bobby was trudging, out of breath, out of the woods, carrying Dean's gun in one hand and holding his arm with the other. His own gun was back in his belt.

"Bobby! What happened!"

"The damn thing must have knocked him out and dragged him off," the older hunter swallowed as Sam took the handgun from him. There was blood seeping out between the fingers of his other hand—the one clamped over his upper arm.

"We had no idea it was that close until Dean went down. It had gotten dark all of a sudden, and we didn't have the flashlights out yet. It was dark, and I shot at it, and it…got me with something. Maybe a knife." He hissed when Sam pulled his hand away to take a look. "Damnit."

Sam swallowed, a little out of breath himself. "We have to find Dean."

"Sam!"

He twisted in surprise, to see Abby stumbling up to them, obviously after all but sliding down the hill behind them, her book dangling from one hand as her arms shot out for balance.

"I thought I told you to go back to your dorm!"

She ignored him. "What happened! Who is that? What happened to him?"

"This is Bobby, the other agent on this case. Bobby, this is Abby, and Abby is _going back to her dorm room_."

"No, I'm not. What happened?" Her eyes focused on the cut on Bobby's arm, and they widened. "Were you attacked?"

"Well…" Bobby trailed. How were either of them supposed to answer that?  
Sam pressed her about it again. "Please, Abby, if you won't go back to the dorm, at least get back inside the student center…"

"Wait a minute! I heard some of what he said, Sam. He said something about Dean being dragged off. How could one guy drag him off like that?"

"One guy killed both of your friends without any help."

She grimaced, but kept going. "What if there's more than one of them?"

"We're pretty sure it's just the one," Bobby answered.

This time Sam shoved Dean's gun in the back of his waistband and tried to push Abby back up the hill. "Please—"

But she fought him. "Sam, no. If this guy is out there right now, I want to help."

He stopped and stared at her incredulously. "_Help_? Abby, we're trained to track these th-guys down. You can't _help_; you need to stay safe until he's out of the way. I don't want you to get hurt, and right now we have no idea what his plan is. We only know he has Dean." His throat threatened to tighten up at the though, but he swallowed hard and pushed on. "Please listen to me."

"But—"

"Abby! The best thing you can do is stay out of the way!"

She stared at him for a long moment, and finally nodded in something of a shock—even though he hadn't yelled half as loudly as he could have before Leah and her fun. His chest was hurting again just from what he'd gotten out.

He knew he'd need a few deep breaths to make up for it, and Sam started to guide Bobby back up the hill to cover it. Abby trailed behind them, but he could feel the glares spearing his back.

Well…good. Hopefully she would storm right back to her dorm and stay there.

He only wished he could stay to make sure, but right now they had to get Bobby's arm patched up, and find Dean. That house would probably be the best place to start looking.

Bobby climbed in the passenger seat of the car, and Sam glanced back once he'd slid in behind the wheel. Abby didn't look angry anymore. Instead, her book was being hugged to her chest again, and she looked more than a little upset.

He swallowed again. "Just stay safe, okay?"

"You too," she frowned.

Sam nodded and shut the Impala's door.

* * *

Dean groaned as he woke, his head pounding straight through to the back of his skull where he was sure the shapeshifter had popped him with something. When he pried his eyes open and pulled his head up enough to realize he was tied to a support beam in what must have been a basement, he was sure.

Damn déjà vu.

He didn't see anyone else trapped with him here, but there were two doors that led to other rooms in the basement, that could have been hiding any number of other captives.

Footsteps on the stairs told him he wasn't alone, and he looked sharply that way, expecting to see what looked like Professor Ray coming down to greet him.

Instead, it looked like Cody Woodrow.

"I'm glad you're awake," his captor said cheerily. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and glanced down at himself. "What? Surprised? Weren't expecting this look?"

Dean snorted, remembering after a moment. "You took the kid last night. That's why Cody wasn't answering his phone."

The shapeshifter hummed an affirmative. "It was too dangerous to keep looking like the professor, after all—since you and your partner were looking for me. After all, you're not really FBI _agents_, are you? You're hunters. And there are three of you. I heard tell of your friend poking around here, too."

"Which means there are still two of us out there," Dean smirked. "You're still outnumbered." _In theory, anyway, but if Sam comes too I'll kick his skinny ass._

Shapeshifter-Cody opened his mouth to deliver what would probably have been a good smart-elic reply, but the doorbell rang upstairs. Presumably this was the professor's house, commandeered when the shapeshifter first took the man's form.

"Hold that thought," the thing said instead, and hurried back up the stairs.

Why would it answer the door now, when 'the professor' had been missing all day? Maybe it just wanted to see who it was, without who it was seeing him.

Dean stayed quiet, knowing anyone outside wouldn't be able to hear him anyway and just hoping that whoever it was had sense enough to get the hell out of dodge.

His hopes plummeted when the he heard the shrill, but muffled screaming coming from upstairs. The screaming came closer, and the shapeshifter reappeared—dragging Abigail Ragusa with him.

"Cody, what are you doing!" she shouted, struggling. "Let go of me!" But the thing's slightly inhuman strength kept her from making any progress on an escape. The shapeshifter shoved her down against the next support beam from Dean, and had her tied to it before she could get away.

"Cody, stop it! What are you doing? Cody!" But in a moment he had disappeared up the stairs again.

"That's not Cody," Dean sighed.

Abby's head snapped around, and she seemed to see him there for the first time. "Dean? You're okay!"

"What?"

"I-I was with Sam when you called him—"

"Oh _that_ kind of busy."

She glared at him briefly. "What do you mean that wasn't Cody? I saw him. What is he doing here anyway, and why did he…"

"A better question is what the hell are _you_ doing here?

Abby sighed in frustration, pulling at the ropes. "I was with Sam when you called him, and he freaked out when whatever happened to you, and he told me not to but I followed him, to the edge of the woods, and saw the other agent coming out, and he said something had dragged you off. He said _thing_ not person, but that looks like Cody! What's going on!"

"Keep going first. What happened after that?"

"Sam and the other guy—Bobby, right?—they left because Bobby was hurt, and they said they had to find you. Sam told me to go my dorm and lock my door, or at least get inside somewhere. I just…didn't. They wouldn't tell me what was going on, and knew something was up, and I thought maybe if I looked for Professor Ray again he might be here. He's the only one that I thought might have any clue, since it was his wife that was killed first. I don't know…"

Dean's stomach lurched. "Bobby's hurt? How bad? Is he okay?"

"It's just a cut on his arm, or something. I'm sure he'll be fine."

He sighed once, and then frowned. "Man, you really do talk fast."

"I'm sorry," Abby winced. "It gets worse when I'm nervous." She groaned and pulled at the ropes again. "What's going on! That can't be Cody; he wouldn't hurt anyone…"

"I'm sure that true. Like I said, that is definitely not your friend."

She swallowed. "Then who is he? Why does he look like Cody? I-is it just dark? He's just a guy, right? A guy who looks a lot _like _Cody."

"I _really_ wish I could say that was the case, but I gotta start by telling you that it was a really stupid idea not to listen to Sam."

Abby stiffened. "Why? Is—is he going to kill us?"

Dean shrugged. "That depends on whether or not he wants to use our forms later."

"Our…what?"

"I don't guess you've ever even considered the possibility of monsters being real, have you?"

She stared at him askance. "What?"

"Abby…that thing—that thing that's not but your friend, but, yeah, looks _exactly_ like him—that's a shapeshifter. It's what killed the professor's wife and your other friends. It may have killed the professor himself by now, too."

She stared at him longer. "Are you on something? There's no such thing!"

"Unfortunately, he's probably ready to change again, so you'll probably get some proof here pretty soon."

A moment later the shapeshifter came bounding back down the stairs, and stopped between them, eyeing his two captives as he gave a feral smile. "Well, it seems no one followed you, Abby dear. However, I don't suppose that means his friends won't come looking later," he said, nodding toward Dean.

"I suppose we'll just have to be ready for them."

Dean only scowled.

* * *

Back at the motel room briefly, letting Sam up his arm, Bobby tried to argue his young charge down. He tried to convince Sam not to come, but with Dean being the one held and leaving them down a man, and Bobby's right arm injured, it just didn't make sense in the end for him to stay in the car this time.

That didn't stop Bobby from worrying about what might happen.

The professor's house, just off the campus and on the outskirts of town, was dark. Pistols drawn and silver bullets loaded, the two hunters skulked around to the back and found a small window that led straight into the basement. Peering through the dingy glass revealed a tiny room barely larger than a closet, and a closed wooden door. Bobby tricked the latch open, and then there was a silent argument of hand signals and mouthed words before Sam relented and let him go in first.

They both scrambled as quietly as possible through the opening and slid to the ground. Bobby was waiting by the door when Sam's long legs easily deposited him on the concrete floor, and the boy held his gun ready and nodded when he was prepared.

Bobby quickly but quietly pushed the door open, and both of them spread out into the rest of the basement, weapons aimed, covering all angles.

The only other figure in the larger space was the one gagged and tied to a support beam. That in itself wasn't a surprise. With a shapeshifter, they'd expected to find captives.

They hadn't expected to find Abby.

Wide-eyed from their entrance, her gaze snapped to Sam, who's arms dropped in surprise. "Abby?" Before Bobby could stop him he'd gone to her, not seeing that she had begun shaking her head at him furiously.

"Sam, wait!" Bobby hissed.

He was already untying her, unlistening. Bobby kept his gun up and ready, sweeping back and forth, waiting for the other shoe to fall.

"What are you doing here! I thought I told you to get inside; how—"

"Sam, there you are." Dean—or what looked like Dean; he couldn't be sure about either of these people at this point—came hurrying down the stairs, pausing at the bottom to catch his breath. Or pretend to. "I was up there; I just got loose. I'm not sure where the thing went…"

Sam had looked up when he heard his brother's voice, but hadn't stopped trying to get Abby untied. That was when he pulled the gag off, and she all but shouted in his ear. "It's a trap!"

Sam jerked back from the volume, frowning for the split second it took to register what she'd said. Then he straightened, bringing the gun up to aim at the thing that looked like Dean.

Or, he tried to, and Bobby tried to get off a shot, but neither succeeded before the shapeshifter had charged Sam in a football tackle and slammed him back into another of the thick support beams.

"Sam!" Abby shouted.

Bobby didn't have to hear any cracking to know something in Sam's chest had broken again; he only had to hear the scream and see the look on the boy's face as he sunk to the ground.

The shapeshifter delivered two quick punches—one to the gut and one to the jaw that effectively silenced him—and turned to find Bobby.

All he found was a bullet in the chest.

Abby screamed in reaction to the shot, and by the time Bobby had dragged the body farther away from Sam, she had pulled off the rest of the ropes and spared him the job. She scrambled to Sam's side, calling his name.

Bobby grimaced. "He's unconscious, girl. It's probably best to let him stay that way for now." Worry gripped his chest like a vise, but there was nothing he could do for Sam until he had him back at the motel, with his oxygen and their medical supplies. Before he could get him there, he had to find Dean.

It only took a moment to register the thumping and gag-muffled shouts coming from behind the other door down here.

"Stay with Sam; make sure he's breathing. I'll be right back."

Abby only glanced up at him briefly, wild-eyed with worry and confusion and shock, but she nodded, and then her focus was on Sam again.

The other door was locked, but one barely decent kick sent it open. On the other side was, again, barely more than a closet, but this one held two captives and a body covered in an old blanket.

"Bobby! Thank god you're okay. What happened out there? The bastard's dead, right?"

Bobby leaned down to untie the terrified college student first. "Yeah, it's dead alright." His gaze slid back to the body.

"The professor," Dean sighed, giving Cody an apologetic glance. When Bobby had the kid untied, he was out the door and up the stairs almost immediately. Dean said to let him go; he probably wouldn't be talking about anything that had happened here, anyway, and there was time to track him down again later. He lived on campus, after all.

Bobby wasn't worried about it; while untying Dean, he was already bracing himself to ignore a good yelling-at from the older Winchester.

Dean helped him, shaking the last of the loops off, and launched to him feet to shoot around his older friend and out into the main room of the basement. Bobby followed quickly, back to Sam.

"Oh god," Dean swallowed, crouching opposite Abby and gripping his brother's arm. "What happened?"

"I-It tackled him," she stammered. "It was so hard, but…still…why is he still out? He shouldn't be this hurt—not just from that. What's wrong with him?"

Bobby watched, not sure how Dean was going to respond to that.

Dean ignored the question, only taking in the information, and the fact that Sam's breaths were growing more ragged by the moment.

"You need to get back to campus," he said quickly instead. "We'll take care of him."

"Are you kidding? I'm coming with you."

"Coming where?"

Abby scowled in confusion. "You're taking him to the hospital…"

Dean shot a glance at Bobby, who shrugged and shook his head to say that it probably wouldn't make any difference either way.

"No, we're not," Dean sighed.

"Why not?" she all but shouted. "He needs help!"

"We know how to take care of him!" Dean shouted back, motioning for Bobby to move in and help him get Sam off the floor.

Bobby motioned Abby aside as he and Dean carefully pulled Sam up between them. "He's probably got a couple of broken ribs is all, and all they would do at the hospital is make sure they're set straight, wrap them, give him pain meds and maybe keep him a day or two for observation. I can do that," he assured the girl gently. "He'll be fine." _For now_, he thought, wincing to himself. _For a few more months, anyway._

Abby followed them as they carried Sam slowly up the stairs. "But…why do it yourself? Why avoid the hospital at all? You're not really FBI, are you?"

"No," Dean answered tiredly. "Didn't the face-changing bastard that grabbed you off the front doorstep clear that up for you?"

She was behind them, but Bobby was sure she was glaring now. "So…what then? What are you?"

"Let's just say this isn't the first of those things we've seen. Taking them out is kind of our job."

"Shapeshifters?" she asked, barely audible and obviously not comfortable with the term.

"Among other things," Bobby answered vaguely. "Trust us; you don't want to know any more than that."

She fell silent until they made it out to the Impala, and neither of them protested when she climbed into the back and helped load Sam in the back seat. He woke up groggily during the process, gasping, and Bobby saw Dean's face twist at the pained groans that followed.

Then Sam was in and Abby wrapped her arms gently around him, until the gasps stopped and he dropped back into unconsciousness against her shoulder, his breathing dangerously shallow. Dean and Bobby were already in the front ready to go, and Dean started the car and roared out toward the motel before anyone could come to investigate the sound of the shot that had killed the shapeshifter.

"I'll go back and clean up later. Again," Bobby said quietly. "I assume I at least need to bury that thing."

"Yeah…just leave the professor, and we'll call with an anonymous tip later if nobody finds him. But we definitely need to bury the shapeshifter. The last thing we need right now is more crap on my record if the cops manage to find us alive again—heaven forbid," Dean sighed.

"I know what you mean. But like I said, don't worry about. I'll help you patch Sam up, and then I'll do it. You stay with him."

Dean nodded once, his mouth pressed into a thin, white line.


	15. Chapter 15

Okay, here! A nice, longer one this time. :) I hope ya'll like it, and please do review if you do. It helps a lot. Thanks so much for reading!

Chapter 15

Dean had been afraid Abby would insist on helping once they got back to the motel, and end up getting in the way, but once they'd gotten Sam out of the car and to his bed she backed off and let him and Bobby see to him. She didn't hover too closely or ask too many questions immediately, either, which gave her a few more points in Dean's book.

The first thing Dean did was turn on the oxygen and make sure the tube was put on properly and that Sam could breathe, before Bobby did anything else. The older hunter carefully checked Sam over, and the news wasn't a bad as they'd feared.

"Both of those cracks have definitely re-opened, and worse than they were the first time, I think, but I'm also sure that nothing in there is broken clean through. There's nothing to set. All we can do is keep his chest wrapped, and wait until he wakes up," Bobby reported finally.

Sam hadn't worn the wrap for several days, but they still had it with them, in case. Dean waved Abby over to help hold Sam up enough, and he and Bobby got it back on him. Abby gently laid him down again, and stood, crossing her arms tightly over her own chest. Bobby waited with them a while longer—to be sure Sam was stable and that an emergency run to the nearest hospital wouldn't be needed after all—before he headed back to the late Professor Ray's house for cleanup.

"Call me if there's any change," he said before he left.

Once he was gone Dean dropped onto the edge of his own bed, staring across the short empty space at his unconscious brother. He could have been sleeping, but for the oxygen tube and the bruise forming on the side of his face. _Damnit, Sam…_

Abby tentatively moved from her spot on the wall by the bathroom door, and perched on the corner of the same bed, arms still hugged to herself.

"So…he's going to bury that thing that made itself look like you?"

_Now_ came the questions.

"The shapeshifter. Yeah. He'll have to drive outside of town and find a place, or something; he could be gone a few hours. I uh…told him to bring food back, though, in case you're hungry…if you're gonna wait here, or whatever. Because I mean, you can. Sorry you might have to wait a few hours for the food though." He didn't know what to say to the girl. He really didn't want to answer questions.

She shrugged. "I'm not hungry anyway."

"Yeah. Me either."

Abby's gaze hadn't left Sam since she sat down. "He'll be all right, won't he?"

"Yeah…of course he will," Dean answered, resisting the urge to squirm.

She turned, finally, to face him, expression determined and bordering upset. "Then what's all of this equipment for? "

"What equipment?" he asked innocently.

"The oxygen generator, and that nebulizer on the table over there, and all the medicine on the counter. What is that? If he's fine, what is all of it for?"

"How do you know it's not mine?" Dean retorted. "Or that we don't carry that stuff around all the time for when things like _this_ happen," he said, motioning vaguely toward his brother.

Abby's arms loosened, and she gestured with them as she kept going. "I caught him leaning over a bench last night, like he was out of breath or something. It could have been nothing, but now I'm not so sure, because when that thing rammed him he didn't fight back. It was like he _couldn't_. He crumpled, immediately. That's not _normal_, Dean."

"I know that—"

"Then what's wrong with him!"

This was not happening. He didn't want to get into this with some girl he barely knew. He didn't want to explain.

Explaining it made it all real.

"Look, in case you haven't noticed, this is a dangerous gig. What you saw back there isn't the worst of it. We hunt some pretty nasty things, and sometimes people get hurt. Sometimes _we _get hurt. It just happens."

She stared at him for a moment, confused. "So…what? You're saying he's still recovering from something else? That's why he went down so easily?"

Dean let out a breath. "Yes. That's exactly what I'm saying."

_Oh god, please let it stop there._

Abby fell silent, and he thought he was home free.

Then she looked up again, jaw tight. "You're lying."

Dean blinked at her, startled. "What?"

"You're lying. I know you are. Don't lie to me."

There were more long moments or silence, as they stared each other down, until finally he looked away.

"I told you…stuff happens. Something happened."

"_What_ happened?"

"I _don't_ want to talk about it," he said firmly.

"Then just…what did it do to him? Why does he need this stuff?" Abby pressed, flailing an arm at the oxygen generator.

Dean didn't want to answer. He didn't want to think it, much less say it.

But the original plan was pointless now. This girl was involved now, and after what had happened and what she'd seen there was no way to change that now. At the very least, he supposed, she deserved not to be lied to.

"His lungs are damaged," Dean sighed finally, reluctantly, standing and pacing away from the bed, a hand scrubbing at the back of his head. When he opened his mouth to finish, much more came out than he'd intended. "His heart, too. That's what some of the meds are for...though to be honest, I don't understand what half of them are for. I just know he needs them, and he needs the oxygen, and the treatments with the nebulizer. I don't ask questions; I just make sure he does all of it. I—"

He stopped himself short and took a deep breath before he made any more of a fool of himself, and focused on Abby again. The blue eyes were damp now, and her fists clenched tightly in her lap as she focused hard at what must have been an extraordinarily small spot on the wall beyond him.

"Then…does that mean…"

Dean looked away again. "Yeah." Out of the corner of his eye he caught the grimace—the one that meant she was holding back the sob he wanted to let loose with himself right about now.

When she tried to speak again it was barely audible. "How l—

"We don't know," he answered gruffly, cutting her off before she finished the question. He couldn't hear those two words in the same sentence again.

Dean spun and retreated to the table, where Sam's laptop was still plugged in and hibernating. He pulled it open to wake the thing up, and noticed appreciatively that the internet cord was still connected, too. Without so much as a glance anywhere else he took the seat in front of the computer and opened the web browser.

He needed the distraction right now.

When Abby darted into the bathroom a moment later, he pretended for the sake of his sanity that he didn't hear her sobbing on the other side of the door.

* * *

Bobby wasn't sure what he was seeing until his headlights illuminated the parking lot, but when they did what he saw Dean, crouching in front of his motel room door. He stood quickly when the light hit him, trying much to hard to look nonchalant until he saw who was pulling into the parking lot. He relaxed then, but he still seemed to be squirming.

"What are you doing out here?" Bobby questioned, frowning as he climbed out of his car.

"I was about to break into your room, actually," Dean confessed, holding up his lock pick.

Bobby's eyebrows went up in confusion. "Uh huh. Why?"

Dean sighed in frustration. "'Cause I frickin' need to pee, and Abby hasn't come out of our bathroom yet."

He let Dean in, and waited until the younger man came out of the bathroom before asking the next obvious question. "Why hasn't she come out? What's she doing in there?"

Dean didn't look very comfortable about answering. "Ahm, well…crying. At first. I don't know what she's doing right _now_….She just won't come out."

Bobby let out a breath. "You told her."

"I didn't have a choice, Bobby. She saw the equipment, and the medicine, and apparently she'd already sort of suspected something anyway before she even _saw_ the stuff in there…I still didn't want to tell her, but she wouldn't shut up about it. She kept asking if something was wrong with him…"

He leaned heavily on the wall by the table Bobby had taken a seat at, looking more upset than Bobby had seen him since the hospital. "I screwed up, Bobby. I just wanted Sam to cheer up a little. I mean, he was happy to be on a job, but I know he wasn't all that satisfied with the boundaries I put up, and I wanted to get his mind off it. I wanted him to be happy for a little while."

Dean let his head knock against the wall. "Now look what happened. We've got an upset college girl who's locked herself in our bathroom, and Sam won't be any happier when he wakes up and finds out she knows about…him."

His eyes closed. "It's a mess. It's a complete, and total mess, and it's my fault."

Bobby just looked at him.

"What?"

"Are you done?"

"Done what?"

"With your self-pity party."

Dean frowned. "My _what_?"

Bobby shrugged. "Look, I'm not your mother, and I'm not going to tell you that none of this is your fault. That's not true. But it's not _all _your fault, either. That boy made choices of his own."

"I made him go out with her."

"You didn't _make_ him; you can't _make _him do anything."

Dean huffed.

"It's true, Dean. It's not all your fault, and it's not all his fault, and you both share the blame with that damn shapeshifter, too, hell, even me. Maybe I should have said something against him meeting that girl, but then again what kind of friend would that have made me? We'll never know, Dean. This is just the way things turned out this time. You of all people oughtta know that shit happens."

"I _know_ that, Bobby. I just didn't want it happening to him, _now_," Dean sighed, sinking into another of the chairs at the table.

They both fell silent for a long moment.

"Sam's not even awake yet," Bobby said gently. "Maybe things won't be as bad as you're apparently afraid of."

Dean snorted. "You can't tell me you're not worried, too."

"No, I can't—because I am. But sitting around moping about it isn't going to change anything."

"Thank you, Captain Cliché."

Bobby shrugged and stood. "Come on…we shouldn't leave your brother alone in there any longer."

"Yeah…"

When the two of them returned to the other room, the bathroom door was open. Abby had pulled a chair in-between the beds and sat there now, beside Sam. When she saw them come in she stood quickly.

"I can move, if you wanted to sit here…"

"It's fine," Dean answered quickly, and took a seat nearby on the edge of his bed.

Bobby went to the table, watching as Abby sat down again and sighed. None of them said a word at first, but for several long moments Abby watched Dean watch his brother.

"You guys have been working together for a long time, haven't you?" she asked quietly.

A corner of Dean's mouth came up, but from across the room Bobby couldn't tell whether the expression were sad, hopeful, or amused. It was what he said that highlighted which emotion he was feeling at the comment.

"Not as long as I'd like."

* * *

When Sam woke, the blurry figure at his bedside slowly solidified into Dean. His brother was stationed in a chair by the bed, head drooped over his chest and seemingly asleep. He tried to shift, grimaced, and decided he shouldn't try it again. He could feel the tube in his nose and the wrap around his chest now, and the reason they were there he could feel even more distinctly.

"D—" The word caught in a dry throat, and he had to swallow and try again. "Dean?"

His brother's head popped up quickly, before falling again and coming up more slowly. "I'm awake! I'm awake…just shuttin' my eyes…" Then he focused, and realized who had spoken. "Sam! Hey…welcome back."

"Yeah, what…what happened? I just remember…finding Abby in that basement, and then you…or wait, I don't think it was you…"

Dean snorted. "Of course it was me; because I would totally have no qualms about slamming you into a metal beam and re-cracking two of your ribs."

"It was the shapeshifter."

"Yep."

"That's the second—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Good times."

Sam smirked. "Uh huh. So where's Bobby?"

"I made him go back to his room and get some sleep. He buried the thing, by the way, so there's nothing else on my supposed crime record. Anyway, how are you feeling?"

He shrugged—a very small motion that he made slowly. "I'm not drawing any smiley faces or hearts in my diary entry for today."

Dean actually laughed, once, at that, but he seemed uneasy over something else.

Then he remembered his other question. "What about Abby? What was she doing down there? Is she okay?"

"Yeah…about that…"

Dean piled pillows behind him and helped him sit up some, back against them, and filled him in on how Abby had gotten into that basement in the first place, and what she'd seen…and what Dean and Bobby had been forced to tell her.

"So she knows pretty much everything but our real last name," Sam deadpanned.

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Great…"

"I didn't know how much she knew, or if that might give something away, and I figured you'd want to tell her yourself if you wanted her to know about, you know, who you are, so…I didn't even tell her we're related…"

"Thanks." Sam sighed carefully. "I guess I kind of have to tell her now. It doesn't make any sense not to, if she already knows everything else."

Dean shrugged. "You don't have to. I mean, it's up to you."

Sam shook his head. "No. After all that I think she deserves to know. I just…didn't want her to find out like _this_. I didn't want her to have to find out about what's out there."

Dean rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, but he didn't have a chance to say anything before the motel room door opened and Abby bustled in, carrying a large brown paper bag and a cardboard tray of coffee.

"Well here's breakfast, and your key," she said immediately, setting it all down at the table. "I uh—" She stopped in mid-turn when she saw Sam, awake and looking at her curiously.

"Sam…hey…" she said awkwardly, and took a few quick strides to the end of the bed. "You're awake. How are you..?"

"I know you know," he answered gently.

Her shoulders drooped. "Oh…"

Sam exchanged a glance with his brother, who squeezed his shoulder once more and stood. "I'll go wake Bobby up and tell him breakfast is here. Thanks for that by the way, Abby."

"Right. You're welcome."

Then Dean nodded and left.

Abby stood where she was for a moment, rocking back and forth on her heels, until she finally made her way around the bed and took chair Dean had vacated. She cast a dejected look at the oxygen generator on the other side of the bed. "So…I guess all of this is why you didn't want to go out with me again."

"Believe me; it's _not_ that I didn't want to. You're a nice girl, Abby, and…I like you," he admitted. "I really do. That's why I didn't want to hurt you. I'm sorry I had to lie to you, but I thought it was for the best. If you hadn't ended up in that basement, you never would have known about any of this. I…know that probably doesn't make you feel any better right now, but it would have been better for you…"

"How do you know what would have been better for me?" she protested.

Sam looked at her for a moment. "Did you really want to know that there are things out there you never believed in before? The kinds of thing that hurt people?" He glanced down at himself, and the rest of the tube that led to the open ends in his nose. "Did you really want to know about _this_?"

Abby swallowed and focused on the wall for a moment. She didn't answer.

"I'm sorry," he apologized again.

It took a minute or two for her to reply. "All right, I…understand why you lied. Apparently it's something you have to do a lot, to get your job done, which I guess is why you avoid hospitals and such when you can. I mean, some of that lying must be pretty illegal, like the pretending to be FBI."

"Yeah…I was never real fond of the illegal part."

She choked out a laugh. "Right. Me either. But…I guess I shouldn't complain. You…you save people. You saved _me_, and Cody, and I'm sure that thing would have kept killing if you all hadn't stopped it…"

"If not here, then somewhere else, yeah."

"R-right," she blinked. "And…that should be the end of this conversation. Beyond the being seriously freaked out, I should be fine, and you should be fine, but it's not just the things in the dark. That's not what's so upsetting about all of this; it's _you_, and this, and…" Abby bit back a sob. "Just my luck, I guess," she said quietly, focusing on her hands in her lap.

Sam grimaced, and felt the tears coming already. "Abby, I'm so sorry. This is why I didn't want you to know, I—"

"It's not your fault," she mumbled miserably.

He let out a breath, gulping back the lump in his throat until he could trust himself to speak. "There's something else you need to know."

She looked up again, blinking back her own tears. "What."

Sam hesitated at first. "At Stanford, I…didn't just _know_ Jessica."

Abby looked at him strangely.

He winced and went on. "Look, Dean and I…our names aren't Duncan and Mayers. Dean is my brother; our last name is Winchester."

For a moment there was no reaction, and he wondered if that was even enough information for her to understand. Then realization slowly dawned, and she was staring.

"You…"

Sam found himself avoiding her eyes as he confirmed quietly. "It was me you were trying to contact after she died; I was her boyfriend."

Her mouth opened as if she wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

"Again, I'm sorry, for lying to you…but our cover was already established, and I couldn't just—"

"It's okay," she said quickly, standing.

"Abby…?"

"No, it's all right. Really. I just…" She looked around, scanning the room, looking anywhere but at him. "I just need to go for now, that's all. I mean, it's the weekend, so no classes, but I-I have homework, and I should find Cody and make sure he's all right."

"Abby."

"And I need to make sure he's not going to say anything to anyone, and—"

"Abby, please listen to me."

"What!"

"It's okay."

She stopped, and crossed her arms and looked down at him uncomfortably. "What's okay?"

Sam took a deep breath and forced himself to tell her calmly. "It's okay if you want to leave. It's all right if you want to pretend you never met me, and none of this ever happened. I'd understand."

Her hands went to her temples as she edged out from between the beds. "N-No, I…I don't know. I don't know, Sam. I just…I need to get out of here, just for right now, at least. I need some space to think. I've been here all night, because I wanted to make sure you were all right, or, you know, as good as you can be, I guess, so I've been here, and now I need to get out. I need to get out of here."

"Okay…" No. It wasn't okay. He knew very well that if she walked out that door she might not come back. And that hurt. But he couldn't keep her here, and he couldn't take back everything that had happened. What was done was done, and he couldn't make up her mind for her.

Abby sobbed once. "I'm sorry." She went jerkily to the door, not even bothering to take any of the breakfast she'd brought back for them all, and looked back once. "Bye, Sam…"

Then she was gone.

* * *

When Dean figured he'd hidden out in Bobby's room for long enough, and came out, he saw Abby leaving.

He saw an _upset_ Abby leaving.

She must have seen him, but she didn't stop, didn't ask for a ride back to campus, or anything at all. Then again, the campus was close enough that it wouldn't be a problem for her to walk, but…

Dean sighed and waved Bobby, who had been following him out to come get breakfast, back into his room. Bobby nodded in understanding and retreated, leaving Dean to go back into the other room alone. He stopped just inside the door.

God…

Still sitting back against his pillows the way Dean had left him, Sam's arms were wrapped loosely around his chest now, his face turned almost away as he focused hard on nothing. There had been way too much of that going on lately. He was pulling that face he had when he didn't want to cry but it was already too late.

Dean moved slowly to his brother's side and sat on the edge of the bed. "Sammy?"

Sam took a sudden deep breath, letting out a whimper of pain after, and swiped at the tears that streaked his face. "Dean," he said, as if just realizing he was back at all.

"Yeah, they tell me that's my name."

That earned him half a smile through the remnants of the tears.

"So…it didn't go so well."

Sam shrugged weakly. "About as well as I could have expected, I guess. It wasn't just the thing about Jess…it was everything. I think she was a little overwhelmed…just needed space to think, she said."

Dean smiled in an attempt to cheer him up. "Well hey; just give her that space, and some time. She'll come back."

"No she won't," Sam said softly, focused on the blankets now.

"How do _you_ know?"

"You didn't see her, Dean. Maybe she might want to, and maybe I don't want to be right, but I don't think she'll be back," he answered miserably.

Dean swallowed. "Sammy…"

"Look, can we just not talk about this right now? Okay?" Sam pleaded.

He looked at his little brother for a long moment, wishing to heaven he could do something to fix this. But it didn't take long to realize that nothing he could say now would help. "Okay…okay."

He got up again, and got Bobby from the other room. The coffee and doughnuts from across the street proved to be decent comfort food, as long as they lasted. When the food was gone Dean brought Sam his medicine made sure he took a breathing treatment, since he hadn't the chance while being unconscious, though he had to bring that over to the bed, too. When the treatment was done Dean made him put the oxygen tube back in, and keep it there.

Sam didn't say much all day, and Dean and Bobby didn't bring anything up. The general consensus seemed to be that they would stay until Sam was recovered enough to make the trip back to Bobby's, and then they would all be out of here.

Whatever came farther ahead than that could wait until later.

By the time Bobby retired to his own room that night, Sam was already sound asleep. He'd been napping on and off all day, really, but this time he seemed to be out for good for the night.

Dean turned the television on and sat down on the nearest bed. It took him a moment to realize it was Sam's, but there was no reason to move, really. Sam was only taking up half of the bed right now, and there was plenty of room to sit. There just weren't any pillows on this side, since Sam had them all.

Or…he _had_ had them all, when he'd been sitting up earlier. He'd pushed all but a couple of them to the floor when he'd lain down. Now he was sleeping, turned partially away on his side, toward the edge of the bed, and his breathing seemed all right. Still…Dean knew he would feel better if he kept tabs on it. Even though he was sure he could have fallen asleep in moments, he wasn't sure he _wanted_ to sleep tonight.

Dean got up to gather a couple of abandoned pillows to stack behind him, and settled back against the headboard on Sam's bed to watch TV. His brother slept on beside him as he flipped through channels. There wasn't much on. Most channels were showing marathons of anything and everything in anticipation of summer, but none of the channels on this particular cable plan were showing a marathon of anything he cared for.

He ended up settling on the Disney channel, of all things, watching a show he'd seen a bit of in passing here and there that was just amusing enough to keep his interest—something about a couple of twins that lived in an upscale hotel and seemed to cause a new kind of trouble every episode. As the night wore on he quickly realized that one was supposed to be the 'smart one' and the other was the 'athletic' type, the one whose schemes tended to be more about the girls than anything else.

Slightly ridiculous for anyone out school to be watching, but it kept him awake. After a while he had to admit he kind of liked the kids' antics anyway, and he couldn't help but see a few parallels. Dean didn't realize he'd been laughing too loudly until Sam stirred beside him.

He also didn't realize until then that one of his hands was resting comfortably on the back of his brother's head.

Dean pulled his hand back quickly, and almost tried to get off the bed, but that was when Sam turned on his back again, and his eyes blinked open.

He was caught.

"Dean?"

He muted the television and glanced down, really seeing now how close he was sitting. It had been reassuring a moment ago; now it was a little embarrassing. "Uh, hey." He reached for the pillows behind him and started to stand. "Sorry; I can move..." He fully expected Sam to simply say thanks, spread out a little again, and let that be that.

Instead, Sam caught his arm. "You don't have to go anywhere…"

The line was innocent, normal enough, but the way Sam looked at him and the strength with which he was gripping Dean's arm told him that he shouldn't move.

Not now.

He shrugged indifferently and sat back against the pillows behind him. "Okay."

"Okay..." Sam stayed on his back, pulling the blanket back up over his shoulders as he settled in again. "Goodnight, Dean."

When Sam's eyes were closed again he smiled, and un-muted the television. "Goodnight, Sam."


	16. Chapter 16

This chapter is a little bit shorter, but I have a friend coming over tomorrow and I wanted to get a chapter out to you guys. Please do let me know what you think; I love ya'lls great reviews! Thanks so much! here ya go; enjoy. :)

Chapter 16

Sam woke later that night to find Dean out like a light beside him, slumped down on the pillows he'd had behind his back. As odd as that would have been more than a month ago, it was strangely comforting now.

Then again, maybe that wasn't so strange. Though he knew he probably wouldn't admit it aloud now, having his brother close had been one of the few things that had ever made him feel safe, in those early years—especially after that Christmas, when he'd discovered for certain what their father was really doing as he dragged them across the continental US.

After a moment he realized he'd woken up because he needed to use the bathroom, and decided he could get there on his own. Dean needed sleep.

Sam levered himself up on his elbows and slowly slid his legs off the bed, pulling the covers off with one hand as he went and keeping the other arm wrapped around his chest. He would have made it to his feet from there, if one of them hadn't slipped on the edge of the comforter that had fallen to the ground.

He ended up dropping to his knees over the edge of the bed, letting out a shout of pain that he was certain would wake Dean for sure. Gasping, he sat back on his heels on the floor, holding his chest in both arms now and trying to _stop_ gasping, because it hurt. He waited for the moment when Dean would be awake enough to realize what was going on—the moment in which he would jump up and freak out and be angry that Sam had tried to do something by himself in the first place.

But it didn't happen. Dean didn't wake up. _Thank goodness for small favors. _

Then a key turned in the door and Bobby burst in instead.

Bobby stopped short when he realized Dean was still asleep. He closed the door quietly and hurried over to help Sam up and onto the edge of the bed.

"You all right?"

Sam nodded silently, finally honing in on having his breath back.

"What were you doing?" Bobby questioned in an urgent whisper.

He motioned vaguely towards the bathroom. "I just didn't want to wake Dean up; he hasn't slept much in the past two or three days."

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I know. That must be why he's deaf; you sure woke _me _up easy enough."

He grimaced. "I'm sorry…"

"Take it easy. I don't mind." He slipped an arm around Sam's shoulders. "Come on, let me help while I'm here anyway." Bobby got him to the door, and waited outside until he was finished before helping him back toward the beds. He paused halfway back, and glanced at Dean. "You want to switch to the other bed?"

Sam smiled a little. "No, it's fine."

Bobby shrugged and put him back where he'd been, Sam thanked him, and he headed back to his own room.

When Bobby was gone, Sam turned over and yanked the other side of the comforter out from under Dean, smirking when he didn't even move. _You really needed that sleep…_

He spread the half of the covers he'd pulled free over his brother, glad to find that Dean's shoes were already off because he knew for sure that he wouldn't have been able to bend down there to get them.

Then Sam settled back in himself, and fell quickly asleep.

* * *

Dean woke to an absurd case of reverse déjà vu. It was the same scene he'd fallen asleep on—but this time sunlight was peeking out from beneath the drawn curtains and it was Sam who was sitting up watch re-runs of _The Suite Life of Zach and Cody_.

Sam glanced down when Dean rolled onto his back and looked up at his brother in confusion.

"Sorry…didn't know the wipe-out was going to be that loud," Sam apologized.

Dean glanced groggily toward the television. "With those two? Are you kidding?"

"So you've seen this show?"

"Yea…marathon started last night; nothing else was on," he shrugged, scrubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Huh. It's not bad."

Dean wasn't sure what it was this time, but he heard another spectacular crash from the TV. By the time he sat up and stretched some, the two twins were already caught in an argument between their mother and the hotel's manager—another of the regular characters of the pre-teen comedy.

"For a good laugh anyway," Dean agreed.

"It's that other new one I can't stand…the bad Harry Potter knock-off with the cheesy spells and one of the DeLuise brothers…"

"The brother that's _not_ in that chick show that has the dude that looks like you?"

"Right."

"Uh…_Wizards of Waverly Place_."

Sam stared at him.

"What? You're the one who put me on lockdown after the whole bank thing."

He received an eye-roll in response. "Yeah. Whatever." The brothers on the television screen came back with a smart remark that set him laughing, and once he was able to pull his arms from around his chest he grimaced and turned the TV off. "Okay…enough laughing for now," he moaned.

"You okay?"

"Yeah...a little better than yesterday, I guess. Did you get enough sleep?"

Dean nodded, and glanced back at the clock—which he promptly glared at. "You let me sleep until noon?"

"As if you had something better to do today?"

He let out a breath and flopped back on his pillows. "Whatever." Then his stomach growled, and he sat straight up again. "Do we have any food?"

"Ah, whatever's left of breakfast is on the table. Bobby just went for lunch, actually; we figured you'd be up soon and demanding it," Sam smirked.

Dean grinned back and plodded to the table, glad for the comfortable conversation. All he found on the table were one-and-a-half cold doughnuts in a paper bag, but he snatched them up eagerly and turned around to lean back on the edge of the table as he scarfed them down.

"Hey what about the other one? There are three, right?"

Sam looked thoughtful for a moment. "Ah…oh, right. The other one's been on that sci-fi show with the MacGyver guy—directing and producing, though."

"Right...the one that went on forever. It's over now, isn't it?"

"Yeah, just recently. I think the spin-off is still going, though."

"And this is the one with another name that starts with Star…uh…"

"Gate. Stargate. I'm pretty sure the newer one is Stargate: Atlantis," Sam answered easily, after another moment of thought.

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, Atlantis. I remember getting a kick out of that." He polished off the last of the one-and-a-half doughnuts and dusted his hands together.

Sam shook his head. "I've heard they want to start working on a _third_ series."

"Shoot me now," he snorted.

"It's not so bad."

"Oh, I don't care; when do we have time to watch much TV anyway? It's just my job to be sarcastic." And his stomach was still growling, and he needed to distract himself until Bobby returned.

Sam smiled again, and Dean was glad to see it—but he could still see the sorrow behind the mask.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and headed back towards the beds. "So…how about after lunch I go look for a decent movie-rental place?"

"The room's only got a VCR; no DVD-player."

"Thank you, high-tech college boy, but a VCR will do just fine."

Sam raised eyebrows at him. "You might have to drive half an hour to find a place."

He shrugged. "We'll probably be stuck here most of the week. If I have to make a couple hour round trips so we can keep our sanity, I don't mind…and don't give me that face. This isn't your fault."

"Yeah…fine. Sounds good."

His brother looked away, and the good mood was all but gone. Dean wished he could have figured out what to say, but Bobby came in a moment later and he didn't get the chance.

* * *

Four long days later Sam was insisting that he was healing, doing much better, and ready to get out of Ohio. Dean couldn't have agreed more, but he also knew why his brother was so eager to make this place a distant memory.

That was why he found himself sneaking out of the motel that afternoon, giving Bobby the message to tell Sam he'd gone out to return the tapes he'd rented from the next town over. He did that, actually, wondering the whole trip whether or not he should do what he thought he should do once he'd made it back to Cedarville, Ohio.

That was how he found himself sneaking in behind another group of students, and once again bothering Miss Ashley McCarthy for Abigail Ragusa's whereabouts. The dorm mother didn't recognize him at first, without the suit, but once he'd flashed the forged FBI badge the woman fluttered off in search of the girl.

Dean caught the redheaded Michelle glaring at him suspiciously from across the common room, and decided to wait outside. He waited for what seemed like much too long, and when Abby came out she didn't look happy in any sense of the word.

She perked up in alarm, however, when she saw who Miss McCarthy had sent her down to see.

"Dean! I-Is Sam okay?"

"Yeah, he's fine. He's healing."

"Then…what is it?" she asked uneasily.

Part of him wished he could be angry at her. She'd hurt his brother. Part of him _was_ angry with her…The rest of him knew, especially looking at her now, that she had never meant to.

Dean shrugged. "I'm really not sure why I'm here, but…we're leaving tomorrow. You can do whatever you want with that information. I just thought you should know."

She swallowed and seemed to shrink against the brick wall behind her, staring at the concrete. "Oh…" He got the distinct feeling that she was afraid of something—not that she didn't have a right to be considering what she knew now. She looked up after a long moment and surprised him with a question. "How can you do it?"

He blinked. "What?" He realized she was blinking back tears.

"How…how can you stay with him like that? All the time? How can you be around him and be there for him, and know what's happening to him?" she asked, voice barely audible.

Then that was what she was afraid of.

His stomach twisted, and Dean's fists clenched at his sides as a way of staving off the formation of a lump in his throat; that was sooo not something he wanted to discuss.

"He's my brother," he answered shortly. She was silent after that, but something made him go on after a moment. "It doesn't matter; I'm not going to let anything happen to him."

Abby looked up in confusion.

"You saw that thing. Now you know there's stuff out there…things you wouldn't have thought of before. Well with all that _crap_ out there that we have to hunt, there has to be something good. There has to be something that can help Sam, and I'm going to find it. He'll be fine."

"Do you…really think you can?" she asked hopefully, straightening.

"I have to."

She winced. "What if you can't?"

"Damnit, why does everyone keep asking me that!" he all but shouted, starting to take an angry step forward and spinning away instead. He quickly turned back to her, letting out a breath. "Sorry."

"It's fine; I shouldn't have asked…" she said apologetically.

He didn't reply to that; he was focusing on a light pole in the distance to keep himself calm.

He didn't want to think about it; he didn't want to talk about this again.

"I'm not giving up," Dean said quietly.

Abby nodded in understanding. "I wouldn't, either."

He nodded, too, as if reassuring himself of the same thing again, and swallowed. "I should go. Sam uh…doesn't even know I'm here." When something like pain flickered across her expression at that comment he quickly amended. "It's not that he…I mean…He wouldn't have wanted me to come because he wouldn't want to bother you. It's not that he wouldn't want to see you. He just cares out other people over himself way too damn much."

She nodded again. "I think I gathered that," she said softly.

Dean gave half a smile in agreement, and turned to go.

"Does that mean he _would_ want to see me?" she asked tentatively from behind him. "If I came…"

He paused and glanced over his shoulder. "Neither of us'll ever know unless you come and find out for yourself. We're leaving about noon tomorrow."

Then he walked away, leaving Abby to make up her own mind.

* * *

The next morning Sam was up and ready to go an hour ahead of schedule, and Dean was hard-pressed to find excuses to keep them there until noon—even though that was when they'd agreed they would leave. He was reduced to being painstakingly meticulous while packing, and he couldn't even know if the ruse was worth it.

"Dude, you've packed that bag like three times," Sam complained, leaning against the bathroom doorframe.

"And you're delusional. Look around or something; make sure we're not leaving anything."

"I've done _that_ three times."

"Then do something else."

Sam gave a shallow huff and pushed carefully off of the wall. He could walk all right now, it seemed, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt. Dean kept an eye on him as he crossed to the table and eased into a chair, and then glanced at the clock again.

It was nearly noon now. Maybe there was nothing to wait for.

He zipped his duffle bag roughly. Frustrated, and slung it over his shoulder. "I'm gonna get the stuff loaded." Sam only nodded in response.

Dean gathered up the rest of the bags and hauled them out to the car. The oxygen generator was already there; he'd loaded it after breakfast, since Sam was all right without it now. Bobby was back in his own room, waiting for the boys to give the word they were ready to hit the road.

He tossed the bags in the trunk and locked it again, and by the time he got back inside Sam was already up again, pulling a long-sleeved shirt on over his t-shirt and having trouble with it. He had one arm in, and that was about as far as he seemed able to get. Dean grabbed the collar and pulled the other sleeve up so he could get to it without stretching or twisting.

"Thanks," he said awkwardly. Dean just clapped him lightly on the back in response.

"Let's go."

They heard tires in the parking lot, and Dean realized he hadn't closed the door—not that it mattered, now. He headed out first, Sam lagging several feet behind as he turned to give a room a visual once-over.

"I'll get…" He'd been about say _Bobby_, but he trailed off when he realized that the tires they'd heard had been someone pulling into the nearly empty lot two spots down from the Impala.

And that it was Abby Ragusa climbing out of the small green car. When she saw him she froze, her car door clicking shut behind her.

"Uh…Sam…"

"What?" he asked, following Dean out the door. Then he froze, too.

Dean backed down the sidewalk until he reached Bobby's door, and knocked quickly. As soon as the door opened he hurried in, shoving Bobby back inside.

* * *

She was only standing there, staring at him, but she was here. He'd been so sure he would never see her again.

Sam wanted to move, but right now he wasn't so sure he could stay upright if he left the support of the doorframe behind that one of his hands clung to now. Instead Abby was the one to take a few steps forward, and stop again. He read so many things on her face at one—apology, regret, hesitance.

He was feeling them all himself.

"I'm sorry…that I didn't come before now," she said after a moment.

He shifted uncomfortably. "I didn't think you'd come at all. I was afraid we'd scared you off."

Abby almost laughed. "It wasn't the shapeshifter, though I feel so strange just saying that. It's not even about Jessica, it's…"

"I would have understood if it was."

She shook her head slowly and stared at her feet, arms crossed again but with no book to give her an excuse for the position.

"It was about me," Sam said quietly.

She nodded, still not looking at him.

He found himself apologizing again. "I didn't want you to have to deal with that."

Abby looked up finally, and gave him half a smile. "That's one of the things I like about you. Even with what you're going through…the whole time you cared more about me than about what _you _wanted." Silently she closed the distance between them, looking up at him tentatively as she had back by the lake.

"I know it's too late…I know you're leaving now. You probably have more lives to save while you're still here, and I wouldn't want to stand in your way. I was afraid, and I ran, and I screwed up and I'm sorry. I'm _so_ sorry…" she trailed, swallowing hard.

Silence reigned for a long, hard moment.

"You still came back," Sam answered quietly. He reached out and rested a hand on her arm, and she flinched as if she thought she didn't deserve the touch.

"I'm sorry," she said more softly. "When I found out I should have stayed; I should have…have…been here for you, something. I know I can't do anything about it, but I shouldn't have just run…"

"You still came back," he repeated, and smiled gently. She'd been avoiding his eyes again, but now Abby really looked at him for the first time since she'd arrived.

Sam kissed her, easing back into the motel room, and closed the door behind them.

* * *

"It's been two hours," Bobby noted, glancing at his watch. "I love that boy, and I'm glad the girl came to say goodbye, at least, but we need to get out of here." Someone from the front desk had called to inform them of that fact just a few minutes before.

Dean shrugged. "They're probably still talking, like the geeks they are. No premarital sex for Christian girls, remember? Besides, I'd personally kick Sam's ass if he tried any of that before those ribs healed anyway."

Bobby shrugged and stood. "Either way, we'd better let 'em know we've got to get going."

"Yeah," Dean sighed. He went out to knock on the other door, but it opened in front of him to reveal Sam with Abby at his side. "Hey…Sam. They're kind of kicking us out," he provided apologetically.

"I know. We got the call in here, too," he replied.

"Okay…uh…I'll be at the car," Dean answered, chucking a thumb over his shoulder. Sam nodded, and Bobby went to check them out. Dean went to lean against the Impala and wait. Sam, meanwhile, had pulled Abby into an embrace tight enough that it looked like it might be painful. If it was, he didn't seem to mind.

He didn't really _mean_ to overhear what they said in goodbye…but he heard it just the same, and his big-brother instincts wouldn't let him feel guilty about it. After all, it would be harder to comfort later if he didn't know what happened now.

"So you'll let me know if anything…happens, right?" Abby asked.

"Yeah, or…or Dean will," Sam answered painfully. Dean winced to himself, and Abby choked back a strangled sound at that one. It was a long moment before either of them said anything else.

"Take good care of yourself," she managed finally. "Just…don't give up, and I won't either. I'll wait to hear from you…"

When Dean glanced over at them they'd pulled back enough to see each other, and he could see his brother's face. Damnit, the face…not much better than the ordeal with Madison. He'd egged Sam on then, too, and look what had happened there. A lot of this, too, was still his fault.

No tears, not yet, from either of them. None had freed themselves, anyway, though they were there all right. Dean knew that if they didn't come now, they'd come later.

"I'll pray, too," Abby added softly.

Sam smiled weakly and kissed her. "Whatever happens to me, never to lose that faith of yours," he whispered. "Sometimes I wish I had it, too."

Now why did that make Dean's throat constrict so badly?

It did worse to Abby. She nodded in answer, but sobbed into Sam's chest for a moment as she did. Somehow she still held back the tears. "Goodbye," she said finally, swiping at her eyes anyway.

"Bye," Sam answered, still trying to smile. It wasn't until she managed to smile back that he let her go.

Dean stopped looking then, and went around to get in and start the car. A moment later Sam climbed carefully in beside him, minding his chest and taking even breaths, but Dean had no illusions that the heavy breathing had anything to do with his ribs. He looked over at his brother anxiously. Sam was watching Abby pull out of the parking lot, but he still picked up on the look.

"Just go," he said shortly, grimacing as the tears finally won out.

Dean sighed and craned his neck to confirm that Bobby was back and waiting in his own car. "Yeah…we're going."


	17. Chapter 17

I'm back from camp! Camp was amazing, but I'm glad to be home and able to write. :) Here's the first new chapter, and I hope ya'll like it. I hope to hear what ya'll think soon! Thanks so much!

Chapter 17

The weather was warming in expectation of summer, but wasn't too stuffy not to be nice. The front steps of Bobby house were a welcoming place for Sam to escape to, for a few minutes at least, especially in the cooler evening air. The sunset wasn't a downer to look at, either.

He just had to get out of that house every now and then—escape Dean and Bobby's eyes watching every move he made, to make sure he was all right. He knew they were only concerned for both his physical and emotional well-being, but he was more than glad that they hadn't been voicing those concerns.

He had enough to do dealing with the reasons for them on his own. He didn't want to _think_ about Ohio, much less talk about what had happened there.

When he came out here, they usually left him alone. Today, as the sun began to sink below the horizon, he heard the screen door smack behind him. Boots thumped across the porch, and the steps creaked as Dean settled beside his brother and held out one of the two beers in his hands.

Well…maybe he didn't mind company as long as the company brought beer. After all, no one had let him near one since…before.

Sam sighed and otherwise took the bottle silently, nodding in thanks. Dean shrugged in answer, opened his own bottle and took a long swig. Sam started out a little more slowly.

The brothers sat comfortably at first, not quite watching the late spring sunset.

"It's been _more_ than a week this time, Dean," Sam said finally. He didn't want to ruin the moment, per se, but it had to be said.

"Yeah." Dean looked away, squinting into the dimming orange light. "I guess you want to get out of here."

"Yeah."

He sighed. "You know I still don't like it—really don't like it."

"We can stick with the compromise."

"We tried that, remember? You still got hurt," Dean scowled, shifting his angry gaze to his boots and dredging up with difficultly what he said next. "In your condition, those injuries could have easily been fatal."

Sam grimaced and stared at his own shoes. "I know, but…that wouldn't have happened at all if the shifter hadn't grabbed _you_. You and Bobby would have gone in, taken the thing out, and that would have been that."

"Maybe. But that _wasn't_ that, and that could happen again. I could be compromised again, and you would go in, and next time—" He stopped abruptly, but Sam read the rest clearly. _Next time you might not be so lucky. _

"Something could always happen to one of us, on any hunt," Sam countered quietly.

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "Well what do you want us to do, Sam? There haven't been any signs of demon activity lately. No omens. No nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Bobby would have said something; no, nothing. I know what you want, Sam. You want that yellow-eyed bastard dead. So do I, but we have no leads. There's just nothing to follow."

"Then we find something _else_ to hunt. Anything. We'll…be more careful this time, I guess. Whatever you want. We've been over this, Dean; I can't just sit here." He shifted on the steps, resisting the urge to wince. His ribs weren't in great condition yet, but he was okay—mostly. He just wanted to get back on the road again. Having time to think was dangerous.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm not liking the sitting around so much myself right now." He took another pull of his beer and sighed. "Fine. But if I slip my cool and mother-hen you, you are not allowed to make fun of me."

The fact that Dean had actually said that aloud was plenty of incentive for Sam to feel amiable enough to agree.

"Deal."

* * *

Bobby had been obviously less than pleased when the boys had decided to go it on their own this time, but he'd let them leave without to much outward complaint and Dean was glad of it. He was sure Bobby had only let them go because he understood that the brothers needed some time to themselves, and none of them needed any vocal reminders of the many reasons why.

The togetherness, however, would apparently be waiting until later. Sam had fallen asleep in the passenger seat almost the moment they'd pulled away from Bobby's place and out of the salvage yard after lunch. He didn't wake up until they were halfway to Missouri. When he did wake up, he did it quickly, and didn't quite cover the grimace or stop the arm that went around his chest after the jerk to consciousness.

Dean chose to ignore it; he was sure the last thing Sam wanted now was more concern, no matter how much his throat burned to ask if his brother was all right.

"Welcome to the road trip," he said instead, smirking.

Sam pushed himself up carefully, scrubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "Where are we?" he asked groggily.

"Iowa. Home of the ever-melodramatic captain of the good Starship Enterprise. Yes, I do know a few things about geek shows."

His brother snickered lightly. "Good for you." Sam glanced out the Impala's window at the beginnings of a sunset similar to the one they'd seen the evening before. "We stopping soon?"

Dean shrugged. "We don't have to. You just got _your_ sleep, so you could drive the rest of the way if you want," he answered, resisting the urge to put the option in terms of _if you're feeling up to it_.

Sam didn't wait long before nodding. "Sure."

The switch didn't take place immediately, and Dean cranked up the radio now that his brother was awake. The station went through two or three songs before playing the same one they'd heard in Bobby's kitchen before leaving for Ohio.

Dean laughed once. "Hey, there it is again."

"Huh," was Sam's only reply.

Dean was singing along almost before he realized he remembered the words. "Come on; it's not that hard to pick up." He never did get his brother to join in, but at least Sam was smiling. He sighed when the song was over, and turned down the volume to a background level.

"Okay, fine…I guess you're right. I'm glad we're back on the road, too." He still didn't like the risk to Sam, but that was his problem. "I was gettin' tired of watching you mope around anyway."

"Dude, I was not _moping_," Sam protested immediately.

"Oh yeah? Go press replay and try to tell me that again." Sam only huffed and stared out the window, and Dean hesitated before saying anything. "Hey…you gotta relax. Ash is still keeping tabs on the demon stuff, and Bobby's working on, you know, your thing. So are we."

Sam glanced back at him, probably wondering where he was going with this.

"Hey, with any luck we'll have you fixed up and back to Ohio in time to see Abby graduate," he offered hopefully.

"Maybe." The answer was noncommittal in tone, but Dean saw the hope in his brother's eyes, anyway. It was enough. As long as it was there somewhere, they would be all right.

Dean nodded affirmatively and went on, though more uncomfortably this time. "And I was thinking that even if we're still working on it then, maybe we should still go."

Sam frowned. "To Abby's graduation?"

"Yeah…" he shrugged.

"No."

"Why not?"

The answer came reluctantly. "I won't do that to her. I'll do what she wants—I'll keep her semi-posted—but I won't go back until we fix this," he answered, looking away through the glass again. "I won't do anything that might make it worse for her if…I don't make it."

Dean swallowed hard. "You'll make it." Then silence fell until he was the one to break it long moments later. "So uh…you wanted to drive?"

"Yeah. Sure."

He nodded absently and started looking for the next exit.

* * *

The case turned out to be your average, run-of-the-mill poltergeist—in a small aging shop in Festus, Missouri. The case took all of two days or so to solve, and Sam obediently let Dean shoulder any minor peril involved.

Sam still didn't like letting Dean go in on his own, but after worrying Dean and Bobby when he was injured in Ohio he figured he owed it to Dean not to protest the compromise for now. When getting rid of the thing went off almost without a hitch and Dean escaped with a few bruises, one safe family business, and one grateful girl, Sam wasn't sorry he'd trusted his brother this time.

He made sure Dean didn't feel bad about not making it back to the motel room that night, either. His ribs were still bothering him, so he took the chance to go to bed early without any questioning from his brother and woke in time to have his things packed by the time Dean showed up again somewhere around lunchtime. It was a good thing Sam had already found food down the street.

"We could always stay another night," Sam smirked, when he saw the genuine smile on his brother's face. It was good to see it there.

"Nah. We should get moving. Maybe all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, but too much fun makes zippo progress," Dean shrugged. With that he proceeded to lug the oxygen generator out to the car. When he returned he was holding a crumpled, typical sandwich-size paper bag. "Hey, this yours?"

"What is it?"

"I don't know; it was on the floorboard in the back. I musta knocked it down there getting that generator in here a few days ago." He shrugged and reached in, pulling out an old videotape. "What the—"

"What is it?" Sam came around the beds to his brother's side, and stared in confusion at the label on the side of the tape. It said _Dean and Sammy 84-85_, scribbled in John Winchester's handwriting.

"Holy crap," Dean said after a long moment. "I totally forgot about that stupid camcorder."

"What?" He was lost.

"Uh…yeah…they had like just come out, and dad decided to get one, I think. I don't remember _when_ he bought it, actually, or however he got it. I just remember that eventually we just kind of had it. I don't think he ever used it much, but…"

"A tape recorder? Why would he have ever bought anything so…unnecessary?"

Dean shrugged, still staring at the tape. "I don't know. I mean, he wasn't always like you remember him, you know," he said quietly. "He went a little crazy right after the fire, looking for answers I guess, but after that there were two or three years where it wasn't so bad. He kind of…went back into dad mode for a little while, before he kicked into full on drill-sergeant mode and started leaving to hunt stuff all the time. I guess you don't remember."

Sam swallowed. "No…I don't." Then he blinked. "But…how did that tape in your car?" Dean looked up.

"Bobby," they said together.

"The son of a bitch has probably had it for years," Dean huffed, shaking his head. "I knew dad had left some of our stuff there in the past, but I didn't know he'd kept this at all…" He glanced around quickly. "Hey, is there a VCR in here?"

"No…" Sam answered, pretty sure there wasn't but glancing again anyway.

Dean set the tape gently on top of the television. "The come on; let's go find one."

"Ah, Dean, we're leaving anyway. Maybe there'll be one at the next motel."

His brother was already heading for the door. "Well I don't wanna wait until we've crossed two states and then there _not_ be one. We might as well get one now."

"You're just gonna _buy_ one?"

"Credit card fraud, dude. We're not paying a cent. Those things are apparently obsolete and dirt cheap these days anyway. No store's gonna miss the money for _one_ of them."

"But Bobby has a VCR." It wasn't that he didn't want to see the tape, but someone had to be practical, and right now that wasn't Dean. Why was he so overeager?

Dean opened the door and leaned on the knob. "We're not going back to Bobby's right now, remember? He already called with a lead on another case for us. Now are you coming or not?"

Sam sighed and followed his brother out to the Impala.

When they managed to find a VCR cheap at a local pawn shop—without going to any chain stores _or_ using any of the scam credit cards—Dean drove back to the motel without losing his good mood, paid for another night, and hauled the oxygen generator back inside so he wouldn't have to do it later before they went to bed.

"What happened to 'too much fun makes zippo progress?'" Sam asked as Dean hooked up the VCR.

"This is different," came the short reply. "Got it!" He pushed in the tape, picked up the remotes and dropped onto his bed to quickly press play. Sam, for the most part, was still baffled. As strange as it was to think that John Winchester had ever taken the time to record anything, it was even stranger for Dean to be so eager to watch whatever was here. He just wasn't the home movie type.

It took a moment for the static at the beginning of the old tape to fade and allow the picture to solidify into anything, and when it did there was only a dark shape, too close to the lens to be clear. Then the shape pulled back, and it was a younger John Winchester's face.

"_Is the light blinking, Dean_?"

"_Yeah, daddy; I think it's working_," said a small voice off screen. John backed up out of view, and half of the couch in an unidentifiable motel room could be seen. A five-year-old Dean sat on his heels in the middle of the cheap bright orange cushions, grinning at the camera and holding an arm around the year-old boy that sat back against him, staring up in bewilderment.

"You have no clue what's going on," Dean chuckled.

"_Is it really recording us_?" his younger self on the screen asked in wonder.

"_It should be_," John's voice answered.

Sam suddenly felt much more sober than his brother, and he wasn't sure why. "Give me a break; I'm like fourteen months old," he answered quietly.

The tape only held two hours of video, and Sam watched Dean more than he watched the tape. The tape he could always watch later, but this would be his only chance to see Dean's first reactions. By the time Dean—his tough, no-nonsense, older brother Dean—began turning his head surreptitiously every now and then to swipe at his eyes halfway through the tape, Sam understood why Dean had wanted to see it so badly. He understood why he himself felt so…well he wasn't sure _how_ he felt.

Like Dean had said, he didn't remember any of this. He'd been too young. The tape seemed to be proving that there had been a good year or two, maybe more, and maybe he didn't remember but his brother did. Dean had just been looking for a better escape from reality than a meaningless one-night stand. Maybe this escape wasn't reality now, but it had been.

That meant so much more than anything else could. Things had been better once. Maybe they could be better again. Not with Dad…Dad was gone; but maybe the hope they were holding on to wasn't so unfounded. It couldn't be. They had to fix this…Sam didn't want to go anywhere.

He wanted to see Mom and Jess's killer dead, and…even if his way of life now would never allow him to be with someone like, Abby, or Sarah…he wanted to see them again. Sam wanted to be able to see them again without weighing them down with the burden of his condition now. He wanted to be whole again.

He had to believe it could still happen. He _would_ believe it could still happen.

"Oh my god! Sam, hey; Earth to Sammy. Look, quick. Oh my god I can't believe he got this…" Dean was laughing again, and Sam focused on the screen to see himself at eighteen or nineteen months old, on his feet and bouncing and bobbing up and down and back and forth to the song Dean had told him about.

"Oh my _god_," he echoed, smirking despite himself.

"Dude, you had some serious moves for a kid."

"Shut up or I'm turning it off."

Dean's laugh was nothing compared to the higher-pitched squeal of a laughing fit coming from his younger self on the video, and after a moment the camera shifted and was set down on something, and John Winchester came into view for the first time in awhile on the tape. He crouched on the floor near Sam's younger self, arms out ready to spot if the boy fell.

John was laughing, too.

* * *

It strange, seeing Dad laugh like that…strange but good. Maybe it wasn't quite carefree, but it was a damn sight better than what they'd seen from him in those last years—especially once he and Sammy had started to butt heads. Dean knew his eyes weren't dry, but there wasn't much he could do about it. He liked to pretend he could hide those things from Sam, but he never could.

Sam always knew, just like he always new when there was something wrong with Sam. It had been something like that when they were kids, before the bad years, but it had never been as strong as it was now. They just knew.

That was how he knew that sitting here watching this was having an effect on his brother. Maybe it wasn't the same effect it was having on _him_, but he knew that thinking face. It was still there when the tape ended.

Dean climbed off the bed and went to pull the tape out. "You know, maybe Dad didn't use the thing much, but I know we had that camcorder longer than the six months or so this covers. I wonder if Bobby has any more of these tapes; _if_ Dad kept any of the few others there were."

Sam hadn't moved from where he sat back against the headboard of his own bed. "Whatever happened to the camcorder anyway?"

"Ah, by the time I was nine or ten he'd gotten rid of it. It took up too much room in the trunk; those old versions were big."

"Figures," he smirked mildly.

Dean shrugged, slipped the tape back into its sleeve and moved to set it on the nightstand between the beds before perching on the edge of his. "What do you think, Sammy? I don't guess I'd mind finding a few more of those." He grinned. "You gotta admit; you _were _funny-looking as a kid."

"Maybe so, but Missouri was right—so were you," Sam shot back. The comment might have been accompanied by a grin of his own, but today it wasn't, and Dean still wasn't sure what was on his brother's mind.

"Oh come on; I was _adorable_. I'm still adorable."

"Dream on, Dean."

"Hey, just because we're in the state she's named after does _not_ mean you have to agree with everything she said."

Sam snatched up the pillow beside him and tossed it in his brother's direction, but it was too obvious that he hadn't used his torso at all in the throw.

Oh.

Dean let the pillow hit him in the face, caught it and pulled it down into his lap. "So how you feeling? Yeah, I know you officially hate that question, but humor me."

"I'm fine, Dean. Just sore."

"You sure?"

He shrugged innocently and nodded once. "Yeah."

"Good. Great…well, it's too late to head out to Louisiana now, so we've got an evening to kill."

"Where in Louisiana did Bobby say the case was?"

"Somewhere south of Baton Rouge. I'll find the piece of paper I wrote the stuff on in the morning."

"Wherever it is, it'll take most of the day to get there."

Dean stood again and stretched. "Yep—so you'd better get some sleep. You are so not zoning out on me again tomorrow. I don't care how much you hate the music; it's damn boring driving around with you asleep."

Sam gave another distant smile. "Except when you're sticking spoons in my mouth, right?"

"Dude, I did that _once_."

"Yeah, and then you found other things to put there."

Dean sat back down, waved him off, and started flipping channels, wishing Sam would talk to him about anything other than cases and jokes…something he hadn't seemed very willing to do since Ohio.

Granted, ignore-the-problem or hide-the-thoughts were Dean's own games, but they felt out of place on Sam.

* * *

Too much movement still hurt, and Sam was careful climbing into the shower. Maybe he'd had one that morning before Dean returned, but the warm water helped ease the ache. Still, he knew he couldn't stay in too long before the steam made it a little harder to breathe—another pain-in-the-ass, annoying-reminder side effect of having a serious lung condition.

He'd only noticed it in the past week or so, and he wondered if that was normal for the stage he was in, or if he should be worried...but he didn't think it was bad enough to worry Dean about it.

The last thing he needed was another mother-hen frenzy. They'd finally gotten to the point, in the last few days, where Dean didn't nag him _every _day about taking his pills and treatments and trusted Sam to get it done himself.

Wondering about the tape and the past he didn't remember, Sam lost track of time and didn't notice how uncomfortable it was becoming to breathe until he started to pull in a breath and dissolved into a coughing fit that didn't help his chest at all. He dropped to his knees in the motel tub, turning the water off as he went and waving at the air around him to clear the steam as he pulled open the shower curtain.

He didn't need a vision to tell him that Dean would be hammering on the door within seconds, and a moment later hammering he was. "Sam! Hey, you okay in there?"

Sam cleared his throat painfully. "I'm okay," he called, scowling at the scratchy quality of his voice.

"Okay…" Dean didn't sound completely convinced, but at least he didn't break down the door. Sam heard his brother move away from the bathroom—in time, he hoped, to not hear much when he doubled over to cough a few more times.

Or hear the sharp intake of breath Sam gave when he saw the deep red that momentarily mixed with the water twisting its way down the drain.

Oh god.


	18. Chapter 18

Well, here's your it-hitting-the-fan chapter, though probably not quite what you may have been expecting. That's all I'll say, but I hope you like it. :) Please do let me know what ya think; I look forward to it. :) Thanks so much for reading!

Chapter 18

Dean was still on his feet and trying not to pace when Sam emerged from the bathroom, hair damp and a little pale but not looking so bad beyond that. Still…

"Dude, what happened in there?" he demanded.

Sam blinked at him for a moment. "Oh, uh, I just gagged on the water, that's all."

"You gagged on the water?"

"Yeah, as in the water from the shower went down my throat and I choked on it. It happens. I feel kinda stupid, but it happens."

It only took seconds to figure out he didn't buy it…but Dean didn't really want to think about an alternative. His conscious mind chose to pretend he bought it before he could think about it too hard.

"Uh, okay."

The grimace he caught from Sam as the kid turned away told him his brother _knew_ he hadn't believed it—but no one seemed to be protesting the sudden silence on the subject.

Dean was tired; tired from the hunt, from the search for the demon, from this damn condition of Sam's. He just wanted it all to be over, but there was nothing he could do tonight. Right now, if he could get a decent night's sleep he would be happy.

Dean watched Sam sit down to take his treatment from the nebulizer, and move from there to put his oxygen tube on and get in bed. He seemed much too ready to go right to sleep. It just wasn't Sam.

Right then, he knew he wouldn't get that sleep tonight.

* * *

It took all day the next day to get down to Louisiana, and it was just past dark when they pulled into the first motel they found in Gonzales—originally named the Gonzales Motel.

It was right down the main highway of the town, unlike most places they stayed, but it was the first cheap place they'd found. The large Lowe's less than a mile away would have made them both happy men, if they were normal. As it was, they weren't normal, and the store was nothing more than a reason for another traffic light that annoyed Dean and provided amusement for Sam.

The Winchesters checked in, were informed that with the many Katrina refugees still around they were lucky to have found a motel with a vacancy, and went straight to their room. After riding all day Sam's chest ached, and he was glad to get out of the Impala no matter much the car felt like home.

He and Dean bothered bringing in only what they needed for the night, and went right to sleep. They wanted an early start on the case the next morning. That was why Sam wasn't at all expecting to be shaken out of a sound sleep only a few hours later.

The lamp between the beds clicked on, and he could see Dean's face. There was a smile on it for the first time since before they'd left Missouri. It was sharing space with something akin to absolute panic, but it was a smile.

"Sammy, come on! Wake up! Hurry!"

He blinked blearily up at his brother. "What?" he groaned.

"The people, with, uh, the list or whatever. They called. Since you've got that weird thing going on with your blood and it's so rare, you were like, first priority if they got a donor with the same anti-thingy," Dean explained, nearly out of breath already. "Well they just got one in. We have to be in Jackson, Mississippi in less than four hours. If you'd get your ass out of bed we can just make it."

Sam sat up quickly, ignoring the twinge in his chest. "What?"

"Did you not hear me? Move!" Dean barked, unplugging the oxygen generator.

He pulled the tube out of his nose and handed it over to be rolled up with the machine. "Wait, you're serious?" he asked anxiously.

"Would I joke about this?" Dean huffed, already lugging the generator towards the door. "Come on; get your ass in gear!"

Sam still wasn't sure he believed what was happening, but he moved. He went almost on autopilot, scrambling up to gather what few other things they'd brought in. Adrenaline kicked in and lent the speed and the ability to ignore his sore ribs, and within ten minutes they were back in the car and on the highway in search of the interstate.

It wasn't until they were well onto the freeway that the adrenaline wore off.

"Wait…a transplant? Really?" he said finally, as it sank in.

"Yes, Sam; what'd you think?" Dean answered, eyes glued to the road.

"No no, I know, but…I just wasn't thinking about it. I mean…" He squinted and focused out the window on the dark trees flashing by. "With the list so long, and the anti-gen and all, I guess I never really thought it would happen. I always figured if we fixed this it would be another way. A transplant…" As his breath hitched his heart pounded heavily in his chest, and it didn't help calm him when he realized that he might not have the same one in there by this time tomorrow night.

"It takes a while to recover from those, doesn't it?" he asked, to distract himself. "It would be a while before I could hunt again."

"It's better than losing you," Dean snapped immediately.

It wasn't until that moment that he realized how tense his brother was. Beyond the hope was the anxiety, which Dean was apparently not immune to. His hands held the steering wheel in a death grip. After his quick answer he seemed to realize himself how on edge he was, and visibly tried to calm down. It took a moment, but he settled back in his seat a little farther, and just barely loosened his grip on the wheel.

"Are you scared?" he asked a moment later, quietly. Finally he glanced briefly at his brother.

Sam swallowed and wrapped his arms around his chest. "Yeah." He hesitated a moment. "Are you?"

When Dean didn't say anything, he knew the answer.

* * *

Sam was admitted through the emergency room at the hospital in Jackson, minutes before the deadline they'd been given to get there. Apparently there were time constraints to these things. Even though Sam could only receive a transplant from a donor with the same strange anti-gen he had, evidently it had been recently proven that organs with the anti-gen would still be accepted by the bodies of patients without it. Nothing could be wasted. Dean had been told over the phone that if they didn't make it the donor organs would go to someone else.

There was an examination to go through before surgery, and they let Dean back but not into the room while they looked Sam over. He paced in the corridor, blinking in the bright lights his eyes were only slowly adjusting to after three hours on the road in a dark vehicle.

He expected the door to open quickly when it opened. He expected there to be a rush to get his brother from the examination room to wherever they would prep him for the procedure—then _to_ the procedure.

Instead, when the door opened, it opened slowly. All of the medical staff that had been inside filed out and away, leaving only one inside, holding the door open. The young doctor motioned silently for Dean to come in. He obeyed quickly, pushing past the man to find his brother, and stopped.

Sam was sitting on the edge of the examination bed, jacket beside him as he re-buttoned his only shirt and stared silently at the floor.

The young doctor that hadn't left closed the door behind them.

Dean looked back and forth between them—the doctor and his brother. "What's going on?" He looked back and forth several times before he decided that he didn't want to know.

It was the doctor who spoke first. "Because of the cracked ribs that are still healing there's an infection and a low-grade fever. I'm afraid we can't operate under those conditions."

Dean spun on him. "Excuse me?"

"It's regulations, sir. There's nothing I can do."

"What do you mean there's nothing you can do?" he demanded. "What's so bad about a little infection and a barely-existent fever?"

"It makes him a risk; less likely to come out of the procedure."

"_Come out of it_? Are you kidding me? There isn't a person on this planet more stubborn than that kid right there. I bet you your ass he'd come out of it just fine," Dean answered heatedly.

"I'm sorry, sir…"

The apology didn't have the intended affect. It only made Dean angrier. Who the hell did this guy think he was? "We did not drive two hundred miles in the middle of the damn night for you tell us it was for nothing!"

"Sir, I don't make the rules—"

"Damn right you don't, but I suggest you do something about this!"

"I can't."

This couldn't be happening. The chance had been there. How could it be gone already? It didn't make any sense. He went back and forth with the man for another moment or so, unable to accept it and unable to beat back the rising sense of panic.

"There's nothing I can do, sir. There was a local patient here when you arrived that we had called in case you didn't make it in time, and they're being rushed into surgery as we speak."

"You don't understand," Dean hissed desperately, hopefully low enough to keep Sam from overhearing. "He needs this. There may not be another chance," he choked, cursing himself for the catch in his voice.

The young doctor sighed sympathetically, and grimaced. "I understand, and I really am sorry." He glanced toward Sam, who hadn't said a word since Dean walked in. "I am." He let out another breath. "Please…wait here. Another doctor will be in to give your brother a prescription for the infection." Then he pulled the door open quietly and gave them both one last apologetic look. "I'm sorry."

When the doctor was gone Dean managed to turn around, to look at Sam. It was hard. His brother was still silent, staring at nothing. Dean wanted to be able to offer comfort, or something—anything—but his blood was boiling. He knew if he tried he'd only make things worse.

The best he could manage was to shuffle slowly across the room to perch silently on the edge of the bed beside his brother.

* * *

Sam felt nothing.

He decided that maybe it was because he'd used up his emotions worrying and fearing on the way here. That seemed a reasonable enough explanation. Reasonable, too, seemed the fact that Dean was angry. True, he was masking it. He always did that at first. But Sam saw through it; it helped knowing that he would be angry too, if he could feel anything at all.

Neither of them felt up to going all the way back to Louisiana at five in the morning—not after that. That much was decided without discussion, and the faintest rays of sunlight were beginning to lighten the sky as they pulled into the first motel they found that was sufficiently outside the main hub of the city of Jackson. Dean pulled up in front of the office to run inside and check in, and then came back to pull around to their room.

Dean sat where he was once he'd parked, expression set in stone—until he let out an inarticulate shout and slammed an elbow into the window beside him. He seemed disappointed that it didn't shatter, and took out his anger on the steering wheel and seat behind him next. After only a moment he fell silent and slumped over the steering wheel, breathing in heavy moans.

Sam swallowed hard and blinked back sudden tears. "Dean…" It was the first thing he'd said since the trip to Jackson earlier that night, and it came out barely audible. He didn't know what to expect in response, but he never would have expected the answer he got.

"Don't start, Sam; this is _your_ fault," Dean snapped angrily, pushing his door open to climb out.

Sam's mouth fell open, and he shoved his own door ajar to follow his brother out. "W-what? Dean?"

Dean stopped just outside the car, hands braced on the top as he glared over the Impala. "_You're _the one that wanted to hunt; _I_ wanted you to stay at Bobby's."

"If I'd been at Bobby's I wouldn't have been close enough to get here at all!"

"Then you should have at least stuck to the compromise! You should have let Bobby come in after me alone! If you hadn't jumped the gun and come after me in that basement you wouldn't have gotten those ribs re-cracked and there would be no infection!"

Sam shifted nervously on his feet. "I-I was still healing from the first time. I could have gotten an infection just as easily even if they _hadn't_ been re-cracked."

"You really expect me to believe that?"

"Dean, what's your problem—"

Dean motioned across the car at him. "_This_ is my problem, Sam! I can't _do _this!"

His mouth went dry. "Do what?" he asked thickly.

"I can't watch you _die_! That's what you're doing. You're dying, right in front of me, every day, and I can't stop it. I'm losing it here." He gestured wildly back in the direction of the hospital they'd just left. "What if that was your only chance at that option? You _know _the possibilities of finding another way to fix this. What if we don't?"

Sam felt himself breathing harder in response to his brother's words, and it was becoming difficult to get enough air.

Well…at least Dean wasn't in denial anymore.

"I don't know…" he muttered miserably.

"We _can't_ know!" Dean snorted. "At least in that retarded fantasy world I knew how it'd all play out. I knew I'd be happy one way or another. That was the whole point of the thing. Maybe I should have just stayed there."

"And let the djinn kill you?"

"Even some fake lifetime would have been better than this!"

Sam's breath caught. "Dean…"

His brother wasn't listening. "Maybe you're the one dying, but it's _killing me_, Sam." Dean's voice caught, and after he'd stopped he opened his mouth again as if to go on, but quickly closed it and looked away.

Feeling as if his energy had been drained, Sam leaned heavy against the Impala's side, desperately hoping that Dean was only mouthing off in anger.

"I should have just stayed," Dean repeated.

Sam shook his head in an almost automatic motion. "You don't mean that…" he protested weakly.

"What if I do?" his brother shot back quickly.

He looked up, tears blurring his view of damp, angry green eyes in the dim light. "Dean—"

There was no answer. His brother dropped one of the room keys on the hood and spun to escape into the motel. The door slammed behind him.

Sam stared at the key for a long moment before leaving it where it was and tugging the Impala's passenger-side door open again. With a muted sob he slid back in and shut the door again. He reclined the seat as far back as it would go—not far—and clumsily jabbed at the controls to lock the car's doors as the tears broke free.

With the car secure and dawn breaking over the roof of the motel in front of him, Sam curled up as far as his chest would allow and cried himself to sleep for the first time in years.

* * *

Dean couldn't remember a time when waking up felt worse. Before he even opened his eyes he remembered every word he'd said to Sam before storming off the night before.

He already regretted every one of them.

Sam.

He sat up quickly, searching the room for his brother, but there was nothing to find. None of their things had been brought in, and the other bed was still made. The clock on the nightstand told him it was already well into the afternoon.

Oh god, where was Sam?

Dean scrambled out of the bed and glanced around for his shoes, only to realize they were still on his feet. He hadn't taken anything off before dropping into the bed and zoning out to get away from…everything. He hadn't even turned down the covers. The bed was still almost as neatly made as the other.

He hurried to the door and all but threw it open, rushing out onto the sidewalk and twisting desperately to search for any sign of his brother. Then he realized the Impala was parked right in front of him, and the key he'd dropped on the hood was still there.

Dean slowly circled around the side of the car, and let out a pent-up breath.

Sam was curled up in the passenger's seat, back to the window.

Dean paced a few feet, unsure what to do. Finally he went back to the passenger-side door and knocked tentatively on the glass. Sam's shoulders hunching was the only response he got, but it told him his brother was awake. He tried the door, but it was locked, and he knocked on the window again.

Sam didn't move, and he knocked the third time. "Sam, come on. Please?"

It took a few more seconds, but Sam slowly stretched out and sat up.

"Uh, it's locked?" he said, tugging on the handle for emphasis.

Sam silently unlocked the door from inside.

Dean hesitated before pulling the door open and crouching at the opening. "Hey…"

"Hey," Sam sighed, not looking him in the eyes. He had one arm around his chest and the other braced on the dashboard, and with that and the grimace on his brother's face Dean got the distinct impression that sleeping in the car hadn't helped the ribs any.

"Damnit," he breathed. He didn't know what else to say, so without another word he stood and reached into the car to pull Sam's arm over his shoulders and help his brother out.

He almost expected the assistance to be rejected—after all, he probably deserved that—but Sam clung to him, leaning heavily once his feet were on the ground and letting out a consistent stream of 'oww's under his breath. Dean glanced back at the car once he'd kicked the door closed. "Bad idea?"

"Bad idea," Sam grunted.

Dean sighed and gently hauled his brother inside, not liking the way his breathing sounded. He went straight to the first bed—the one he'd already used, but that didn't matter; it was closer—and made sure Sam laid down. "Just stay there; I'll be right back." He quickly went back out and dragged the oxygen generator inside.

"Here." When he had the thing plugged in and on he handed Sam but the tube, but his brother didn't seem too happy about it.

"It's the middle of the day…"

"Yeah, but you didn't really use it much last night, so it's okay." Sam still hesitated, staring at it as he propped himself up on one elbow, and though Dean knew what his brother was afraid of, he held it out closer. "It's okay, really. You're just…behind, that's all. It doesn't mean anything. You're fine. Come on, take it."

Sam tried to pull in a deep breath and winced. Reluctantly he took the tube, and after a few moments of taking in the oxygen his breathing began to even out. Dean finally relaxed a little, and as Sam lay back again he took a seat on the edge of the bed.

"I'm sorry."

Dean let out a surprised bark of laughter. "_You're_ sorry? Are you friggin' kidding me?" he scoffed. "I was…an ass out there last night."

Sam was staring at the ceiling. "You were angry."

"Yeah I was pissed all right, but that didn't give me any right to say any of that crap. This was not your fault any more than it was anyone else's."

"Except maybe that shapeshifter," he said, almost smiling.

"Yeah…except maybe the shapeshifter," Dean shrugged.

Sam nodded once and sat up slowly, still pulling in careful breaths through the oxygen tube. For a moment he pressed a hand under his nose, holding the thing in closer. Dean watched him, trying not to react, but when Sam quickly dropped his hand he figured he hadn't succeeded in keeping the pain from his face.

"Not everything you said last night was just because you were angry." It wasn't a question, and Dean grimaced and looked away.

"Sam—"

"No, Dean, it's okay," he said tiredly, staring at his hands in his lap. "Really. I mean, it's not like it was anything I didn't already know. I _know_ how hard this has been on you…I've been in your position before, remember? And what happened last night couldn't have helped any."

"Not really."

"I know," he sighed.

Dean shrugged. "I just…don't get it."

"Get what?"

"Why it happened! I mean…hey, you remember that case from a few months ago, don't you? The one with the murdered priest who thought he was an angel or something?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Well…after that, what with what happened and how that kid died and all, I guess I was willing to consider that _maybe_ there really is a God out there somewhere. Now I don't know _what_ to think."

Sam swallowed. "Me either."

Now _that _was cause for alarm. "What? Come on, Sam; you've always believed in this stuff."

"Yeah, the basics, and I still do, I guess, but I don't get it either," he winced, motioning vaguely. "What's going on here? What about all of those coincidences, with Abby and the girl back in Mississippi? Was that supposed to mean anything or am I just crazy? Was there a point to any of this at all? To last night?" He stopped and let out a breath. "I just don't…understand," he said helplessly.

"I guess we can't know everything?"

His brother didn't seem to hear him, but it didn't matter. It hadn't been a particularly brilliant response, anyway.

Sam rested his elbows on his knees and let his forehead drop into his hands for a moment. "And, god, the fact that we got called in the first place." He sat up again, hands braced on the edge of the bed. "If we were right, you know what that means don't you?"

"Uh, you're gonna have to refresh my memory on that one."

"The anti-gen, Dean. If it has something to do with the demon, then it means that another of the children like me is dead. They're dropping all over the place, and we don't know why. What the hell does _that_ mean?"

He was working himself up already, and running out of breath. Dean half stood, reaching across the space between the beds to clamp a calming hand on his brother's shoulder and coax him to lie down again. "Whoa, Sam, take it easy."

Sam reluctantly allowed himself to be pushed back down, and Dean returned to his seat. Silence fell, disturbed only by the whine of the oxygen generator. _God, I hate that thing. _He would have smashed the thing to pieces long ago if he hadn't known it was prolonging his brother's life.

Though that was hard enough to stomach of itself.

Neither of them said anything for several long minutes, and Dean couldn't help but realize that there was still one aspect of the argument the night before that they hadn't touched on yet even in passing—the last part; the part about the djinn.

He didn't think they _would_ get to it, either, but it hung there. Something told him Sam hadn't forgotten it, either.

"We never called Bobby last night, did we?" Sam asked eventually.

Dean frowned, trying to remember. After a moment he pulled out his phone to check the recent dialed calls. "Uh…no. We didn't."

Sam's eyes closed. "Good. He doesn't need to know about this."

"No," Dean swallowed. "He doesn't."


	19. Chapter 19

Here ya go! A little bit of a longer chapter for ya. :) I really hope to hear from all of you on what you think...this one was hard to write. Anyway, am off to the grandpa's tomorrow to help repaint, so I'm not sure if I'll be able to get any writing done the rest of the week. I'll try to get another chapter of Time's Lessons up this week though, at least. The grandpa has dial-up, so it's not great, but it works. We'll see. Anyway, enjoy! I can't wait to hear from ya'll! Thanks so much; ya'll are great!

Note: Excuse me if I end up being a little dramatic here, but one of Loki's latest SPN videos is still in my head, and I kept listening to Coldplay's "Fix You" while I was writing the chapter. :P

Chapter 19

Sam was awake when Dean got up the next morning, but he hadn't gotten out of bed yet. Dean didn't even know his brother's eyes were open until he was halfway across the room; he turned at a faint sound and realized Sam was looking at him.

"Hey," he said in surprise, blinking once or twice.

Sam let out a breath. "Hey."

They both fell silent and Dean stood at the foot of the beds, shifting awkwardly. "Well, that's been overdone," he said after a moment, attempting a smirk. It came out at half-mast, but his brother smiled in return anyway. Sam laughed, too, and it was a little weak but it was genuine. "So…you feeling any better?"

Sam sat up slowly. "Yeah, I'm okay."

No. He wasn't _okay_, but Dean would take what he could get.

"Okay…so…what do you want to do?"

"Do?"

Dean shrugged. "Yeah. Do. There's still the case in Louisiana, but we don't _have _to go back there; we could let Bobby take care of it…"

"No," Sam said quickly. "It's okay. We should go back."

"You sure?"

He nodded firmly. "Yeah."

"Okay. Louisiana it is, then." Sam smiled briefly in thanks—for the lack of argument, no doubt—and Dean managed to smile back a bit before pulling out his phone to check for any messages that might have come during the past day-and-a-half in which he and Sam had been holed up here on the edge of Jackson.

When he saw the list of missed calls his mouth dropped open. "Holy crap."

Sam paused in the process of getting out of bed. "What?"

"Bobby's called like a gillion times in the past day or so."

"How did you not hear the phone that many times?"

"I don't know…oh. It's on silent. I must have bumped it or something. Crap." He turned the ring volume up again and dialed Bobby's number.

The older hunter picked up on the first ring. "_It's about damn time. Why the hell haven't you called me yet_?"

"Excuse me?"

"_What's going on_?"

"What are you talking about? Everything's fine," Dean said quickly, exchanging glances with Sam.

"_Fine_?_ I got some kind of call, something about a donor, and looking for Sam, and everything's fine_?_ What the hell _was_ that_? _Did they even get a hold of you_?"

Dean grimaced. _Shit_. He looked at Sam, who was up and curious, but he knew this wasn't going to be pretty. He held up a finger as a signal to wait, and slipped quickly out into the parking lot.

* * *

By the time Sam made it out of the bathroom his brother was back inside, and he opened the door just in time to witness Dean throwing his phone across the room.

"Uh…Dean?"

His brother dropped onto the edge of one of the beds. "He knows."

"Bobby?"

"Yes."

"Knows what?"

Dean just looked at him, and the only word he could think of to describe the expression there was _frazzled_. "No…"

His brother nodded wearily.

Sam's chest clenched painfully. "What? How? How the hell does he know? Did you _tell_ him?!"

"No, Sam, I did not _tell_ him. They called him first looking for you, so he'd heard about the donor."

"I thought they were supposed to call your cell first."

"They did. I didn't wake up the first time." Dean sighed miserably. "Anyway, Bobby was trying to get in touch with us about it, and obviously he was a little pissed that no-one had called him back until now. He was worried. I had to tell him what happened."

Sam trudged to the other bed and sat carefully, scowling. "Damnit."

"Yeah," his brother echoed.

They sat in silence until Dean stood. "Come on; let's get out of here."

"Are we still going to Louisiana?"

"Of course we are."

Sam looked at his brother for a moment, and finally shrugged and stood. "Fine. I'm ready."

Dean returned the oxygen generator to the car, and that was really all they'd brought in. Anything else was rounded up and stashed in the trunk, and once they'd finally changed clothes they were ready to go.

It took Sam that long to manage to ask the next question.

"Is Bobby okay?" he asked as they headed out.

Dean stopped just short of the motel room door, barely looking over his shoulder. "What do you mean _is_ he okay? He's Bobby."

Sam winced. "He has feelings too, Dean," he said quietly.

His brother let out a breath and turned to face him. "So I gathered. He spent long enough shouting through the phone with them." Sam's mouth opened, but Dean held up a hand. "He's fine, Sam. He cooled off, and he's fine. Or…I guess he's about like us, but he'll _be _fine. Okay?"

"Okay…" He swallowed and paused. "Is he mad at us for not calling?"

"Of course he's pissed, but not at us—mostly. I told you; he'll be fine."

Dean turned to go out to the car, but Sam couldn't help asking one more time. "You're _sure_ he's all right?"

His brother turned to him again, letting out a single bark of laughter. "Typical," he said, shaking his head.

"What?" he scowled.

"Typical," Dean repeated. "Just…typical _you_. All this crap, and you're worried about _Bobby_?"

Sam didn't see what was so strange. "Of course I am. He cares just as much as we do. That was why we didn't want to bother him about this in the first place, and—" Before he could finish his train of thought Dean was on him, folding him into a careful but firm embrace. "Dean?" His brother didn't answer at first, and he tentatively brought his own arms around in return. "Dean?"

Dean took a while to answer, but it wasn't so horrible standing there in his brother's arms. It didn't even seem too strange, given the recent weeks. What made it strange was what Dean said, when he finally spoke.

"Sammy…whatever Dad said, or how he acted, ever, don't think he wasn't proud of you, okay? Maybe you never turned into the perfect hunter he wanted us both to be, but he was proud of how you turned out. He was just too damn stubborn to tell you."

"What?" he asked weakly.

Dean pulled back enough to look at him, but still clung to his arms for a moment. "You're a good kid, and he knew that," he said quietly, clapping Sam gently on the back as he let him loose. "Not that you're a kid anymore, or anything. Anyway…" He cleared his throat went for the door. "We should go."

"Right…"

Dean was out the door in seconds, but Sam stood where he was for a long moment, watching his brother.

That had been…good, right? It was good. It was good know. Painful now, but…good to know. Still, he could understand why his throat might feel tight, and why his eyes might be stinging—why they _were_.

But that wasn't it at all. What Dean had told him wasn't what bothered him.

What bothered him was Dean.

Dean never just up and told him things like that. He rarely opened up, and Sam had shown his penchant for caring more about others than himself many times before without any reaction that pointed.

The opening-up should have been a good thing. But if it was a good thing, why did it hurt? Why did it feel like Dean was already starting to let go?

"Dean…"

_Don't._

* * *

So it was back to Louisiana—back to the motel in Gonzales with it's washed-out pink door and trim and it's high wooden fence that tried to give the illusion the place was isolated despite the fact that it sat right off Airline Highway, the busiest thoroughfare in the city.

After a stop back near the state line for lunch they were back by early afternoon, and were given the same room as before. They were barely settled into the room when Sam asked about the case.

"So what's the story here?"

"Ah, something in a smaller local tabloid paper Bobby saw a copy of online. Some kid claims to have seen a small figure in his room—sometimes on fire, and sometimes just looking burned. He thinks it's after him, and apparently they're trying to figure out if the kid's off his rocker or there's something going on there."

Sam winced. "Someone could have died in the house."

Dean shrugged. "Could have."

"Got the address?"

He pulled the piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it off to his brother as Sam passed, headed for the table with his laptop.

"I'll see what I can dig up on the history of the house. If I don't come up with anything I let you know; we may have to hit the library."

Dean nodded. "And tomorrow we'll head over and talk to the family."

Sam nodded as he set up his computer, plugging in the power and the internet and opening it. "Sounds good to me."

Back to business then. Good. Business he could handle. Ghosts and poltergeists and demons he could handle.

Dean didn't know if he could handle what he'd realized the night before last.

* * *

"Mrs. Jaden, when did you purchase the house?" Sam asked. He knew the rest of the history, but the most recent purchase was too recent to have been in the library's records he'd perused the night before. Now he, Dean, and the mother of the family—the only person home—were in the living room of the house. Mrs. Jaden was sitting back heavily in the sofa, while Sam and Dean perched on the armchairs across the coffee table.

"Uhm, about six months ago. It was a steal, really. We felt so lucky to find a house this nice at a price so low," she answered distractedly. "So…what did you say this was for?"

"We're from another paper, just following up on the initial interview you and your husband and son gave—getting more detail and checking facts. There may be another article of our own later as the situation develops."

"Oh…all right," the woman said uncertainly.

Dean sat forward. "So you say the house was cheap?"  
"Extremely. We felt so blessed, but now this happens…and I don't know what to think. I suppose it doesn't really have anything to do with the house, but why now? Why is my son seeing things? It can't be real, but he can't be crazy; Tucker's always been such a smart boy, and I—"

"Ma'am, take it easy," Sam soothed. "Maybe we can help."

She blinked. "You can?"

Dean shot him a look, but relaxed once he answered. "Absolutely. You right; this doesn't necessarily mean there's anything wrong with him. Maybe if…another article takes a different stance, his case will be taken more seriously, and you can fix this. If anything's wrong at all."

Mrs. Jaden sighed. "I suppose that's one way to look at it. I _would _appreciate it. I can't stand to go outside anymore; too many people look at us and just…laugh. I had no idea that other paper would make it sound so _bad_, like some cock-a-meme ghost story." She glanced up and her eyes flashed. "You won't, will you?"

"Of course not," Dean smiled. "Now, if you could just answer a few more questions…?"

As they pulled away half an hour later Sam glanced back at the house once before settling in. "So did you get anything on the EMF?"

"It was everywhere, but mostly in the kid's room, like we thought. Next time though, I'm not gonna be the one asking to use the friggin' bathroom."

Sam chuckled. "Whatever. So are you coming back tonight?"

"Yeah, we'll come back tonight and stake the place out."

He raised an eyebrow, and Dean huffed. "Yes, you can come, but you're staying in the car. Got it?"

"Yeah, yeah. I know."

They rode quietly for a moment, before Dean popped up with another question. "Hey, if we kill this and there's no more reason for anybody to think her kid's crazy, how're you gonna do what you said you could about that? We're not _really_ from a newspaper. We can't put any story out."

Sam shrugged. "I'll post something anonymously on the internet. Everyone knows the web gets more circulation than those stupid papers anyway."

"True, but…"

"But what?"

Dean looked thoughtful for a moment. "Or you could write the rebuff and _send_ it in to one of those stupid papers. Maybe they'd pick it up."

Sam stared at him. "Why the hell would I want to do that?"

"Last time I checked, you write pretty good. Why not actually get it printed—especially if it'll help that family get their face back."

"Like I said, I'll do that over the internet. It's a lot easier, anyway."

"Sure, but it doesn't get you in print."

"Dean, what the hell?" Sam complained. "Why do you care?"

"_What_? What's wrong with it? Doesn't everybody want to see their name in print? I don't write, but even _I_ think that would be cool."

He huffed. "It wouldn't even be my name; that would be way too dangerous right now."

"So? You'd still know you did it?"

"Oh yeah; getting printed in a tabloid or town paper in the back-end of nowhere would be such a huge achievement," Sam snorted sarcastically.

And somehow, Dean looked hurt. "Geez…I just thought it'd be cool."

Sam stared at him for a moment longer, taking in the expression and going back over everything his brother had said. Finally he slumped back into his seat, barely noticing the ache in his chest for the lump in his throat.

There it was again—Dean, acting for a moment as if he were preparing more for the worse than for the better.

It still hurt.

* * *

Sam was quiet until they made it back to the motel again, and Dean had to prod him as they went inside before he said anything.

"Hey, so what else did you find yesterday? About the house?"

His brother snapped out of whatever stupor he'd been in and went over to his computer to pick up a folder of printouts and copies he'd brought back from the library.

"Yeah, uhm…it's only bout fourty years old, but in 1979 a five-year-old boy names Seamus Smith fell into the fireplace. They got him out, but he'd sustained too many third degree burns. He died two days later."

Dean scowled. "Damn. I hate stuff like that. Dealing with kid ghosts sucks."

Sam nodded and closed the folder. "So we officially think it's the kid?"

"I don't see any other explanation right now. Either he's just upset and scared and can't move on, or he went psycho and really is after the Jaden kid. We've seen that before."

"Yeah, but that little girl was a psycho killer _before _she died."

"It's still possible."

"I guess so."

"Did you get where funky-name-boy is buried?"

"Yes, I got that too."

Dean crossed his arms. "Good. All we have to do is stake out the place until he shows up again, and make sure it's him. If that's all it is, we torch the bones and we're out of here."

Sam opened the folder again for a moment, and pulled out a single sheet. "Here's a picture. It's grainy, from a newspaper, but it's all I could find. There's no family left around here to talk to; they all moved out of town after the accident, so..."

Dean took it and squinted at it, memorizing the likeness so he could recognize the ghost later if he needed to, but quickly handed it back. The kid looked a little too much like Sam at that age for his nerves to handle right now.

* * *

The house was silent until nearly midnight. That was when the screaming started.

Dean was out of the car and around the back of the single-story house within moments, and Sam sat anxiously in the car, moving over into the driver's seat to wait.

He saw a faint burst of orange flame through the bedroom window, and heard the shotgun more than once over the Jaden's boy's screams, but at the angle he was sitting from the window he couldn't see anything else inside.

Another bright orange burst, another shot, then everything went quiet…and Sam went reflexively for the door handle. "Dean, come on…" If he didn't see his brother coming back in another three seconds, he was going in.

No. There. It was Dean, coming back around by the bushes and hurrying across the street. He hopped into the passenger's seat and quickly closed the door. "Get going."

"Is everything okay in there?"

"It is for now, but we might want to be out of here before the parents start looking for whoever was in their kid's room."

Sam took the hint and quietly pulled away from the curb to head back for the highway. As they passed the house he could really see through the window he'd been focused on a moment ago, and found a frightened Mr. and Mrs. Jaden clutching their son between them.

"Do they know what happened? What _did_ happen? Was it the boy from '79?"

"Oh, it was the kid all right," Dean shuddered. "Creepy as hell, too. I'm pretty sure he _was_ after Tucker, but a few shots sent him into oblivion for a while. We gotta get to that cemetery. It's not far, right?"

"No, not far."

Dean relaxed a little at that. "Good. Anyway, no, the Jadens don't know what happened. I was outta there before they made it to the kid's room."

Sam nodded in response, grateful for that. Tucker was too young to remember much of this, and soon it would be a distant nightmare. His parents would never know it had ever been anything but, and another family was saved the experience of discovering what was really out there.

When they found the grave Dean wouldn't let him help dig it, and Sam was relegated to guard duty—pacing the top of the whole with his sawed-off, keeping an eye out just in case the spirit wasn't confined to the house. In the end there was no trouble. Dean climbed out, waited for Sam to spread the salt, and dropped the match.

"So that wasn't so bad," Dean said on the way back to the motel, now back at the wheel. "Neither was Missouri, really. So…I guess you were right about the whole hunting thing. You know? It's turning out okay. Ohio was just a fluke. We'll be fine."

Sam gave an uncomfortable half-smile. "Yeah, sure. Fine." He _wanted _to be fine. He would have accepted that comment whole-heartedly if Dean hadn't been acting so strange since Jackson.

He quickly changed the subject. "Nice scorch marks."

Dean glanced down at himself. "Yeah, so much for this shirt, but I'm fine. Might need to put something on 'em for a day or two, but I think that'll be it."

"Good. Good…"

Neither of them said anything the rest of the way back, and Sam retreated quickly to the shower.

He made it quick, but it was still hard to breathe in there. He was gulping air when he made it out of the bathroom, and Dean was still awake. He quickly clicked the television off, but not before Sam realized he'd brought the VCR in from the car. He'd been watching the tape.

Dean looked at him for a long moment, stricken, Sam frozen in the bathroom doorway with a fist clenched over his chest as he pulled in slow, difficult breaths. Then they both looked away, and made quick work of getting to bed. Neither of them said a word the rest of the night.

Neither of them were fine.

* * *

Sam might not make it. He could lose Sam.

Dean hadn't even let himself consider the possibility before, but now it seemed to be screaming at him from every corner.

Sam might not make it.

How was he supposed to deal with that? He'd refused to think about it before, and he didn't _want_ it think about it now. He just had no choice now—not after what had happened. It was a rude awaking—a realization anew that not everything worked out in their favor. He should have known it, after everything they'd been through. It was the one lesson he should have learned by now.

He could lose Sam.

How could he lose Sam? He'd already lost Mom, then Dad. Now Sam was slipping away right in front of him.

Dean didn't want everything to be strange. That conviction still stood. He wanted normalcy…or what was normalcy for them. He wanted to pretend nothing was wrong until nothing was. But common sense slipped out to bite him in the ass every now and then, and he would do something…say something…

Dean couldn't prepare _himself_. He knew he never could. He knew if he lost Sam it would rip him to shreds. There was no way to change that.

But he could be here for Sam. He could help _Sam_. If he couldn't save his brother—if making it easier for Sam to move on when his time came was the last thing Dean could do before it was over and he lost his sanity—then so be it. He never wanted it to come that, but he'd be damned if he let Sam die with regrets. He'd be damned if he let Sam die at _all_, but…

So he let himself open up. Just sometimes.

Sometimes was better than never, right? It hurt, and he knew it hurt Sam, too, but the damn common sense knew they needed it—or thought they needed it.

Sometimes he just wasn't sure anymore…wasn't sure of anything; not of what he was supposed to do, or what would happen, or of anything.

Sometimes the uncertainty was more hell than the thought of losing Sam.

When Dean was four, he'd been able to carry Sam down the stairs and out of the house and away from the fire. No matter what had happened when they were kids, he'd always been able to do _something_ to protect his brother. When Jessica died, he'd been able to get Sam out of California and away from some of the pain and the memoires. He'd helped his brother rebound, helped him find life after the lost love. Since then he'd tried to always be there. He'd saved Sam and Sam and had saved him, more than once.

But now there was nothing he could do. He could be there, but it wasn't the same. He could look for a way to fix this, but with each failed prospect the frustration mounted.

Nothing came of any of it in the end.

For the first time in his life, Dean felt truly helpless. For the first time in his life, Dean had absolutely no idea what to do anymore.

* * *

Sam had thought he would be the one to tailspin, as things got worse. Instead, he watched his brother do it.

Dean's moods came and went. One moment he was calm, opening up a bit, sharing something-or-other about their childhood, about Dad, about Mom, about anything. Or he was trying, in his own jerky, uncertain, but sincere way, to show Sam that he loved him, that he was proud of him…sometimes in words, sometimes not.

The next moment he was shutting down and throwing himself into the next hunt, the next case, the next job. Always the hunt, the case, the job.

Dean was all at once distant and closer than he'd ever been; lovingly near and farther away than ever before. He looked after his brother more than he ever had in his life, but Sam could still feel him pulling away.

He didn't understand at first, but as it became harder to breathe, as he reluctantly began using the oxygen while in the motels during the day as well as at night…as he saw Dean staring at him more and more, he understood.

Dean loved him. That much he knew. Dean didn't want anything to happen to him. He didn't want to think that anything _could_, but every day he saw evidence to the contrary. Part of Dean was pulling away from the pain, preparing for the end; while the rest of him denied its possibility, clinging stubbornly to the hunt, the jokes, the normal…the essence of what had become their life together over the past two years.

The conflict was already beginning to tear Dean apart, and the only thing that hurt worse than watching it and not being able to stop it was the memory of his words in the motel parking lot outside Jackson that night.

_I should have just stayed._

What if he'd meant it?

Well…maybe he should have. Maybe he _should_ have stayed. Sam didn't want his brother to be suffering this way any more than Dean wanted any of this to be happening either. But…he needed Dean. Sam didn't want Dean to hurt, but he didn't want to let go of him.

Dean couldn't settle between letting go and holding on, and the worst thing was that Sam didn't know which one he would rather his brother chose.


	20. Chapter 20

Back from the grandpa's, finall. Anyway, sorry this is kind of a short chapter, but it was important to me that nothing extra take away from this part here. :) I hope you like it; I can't wait to hear from you! Thanks so much ya'll!

Chapter 20

Sam was at the table on his computer when Dean made it back to the motel—a place he'd been spending a lot his time lately. The tube from the oxygen generator was unrolled and reached across the floor to Sam from where the machine rested by his bed, and in sweats and sporting pale skin and shadows under his eyes, there was no more illusion of health.

There hadn't been for weeks. He hadn't left the motel rooms the last several places they'd been, and when he moved he did it slowly.

They were running out of time, and they both knew it.

Dean just couldn't think about it.

His brother looked up as he shut the door behind him. "Hey. How'd it go?"

"Fine…just fine. The ghost is toast."

"Wow. That was a horrible joke."

"Thank you, college boy." He grumbled to himself as he dropped onto his own bed and spread out on his back. "This was supposed to be in-and-out; see if the old broad knew of anything that could help you, and get back on the road if she didn't. It wasn't supposed to turn into a case."

Sam shrugged. "It's not her fault she was being haunted by the ghost of an old client."

Dean rolled his eyes. "The very fact that it was an old client _makes_ it her fault."

"Whatever."

"_Any_way, we're out of here first thing in the morning. Bobby dug up another address for us."

"Where?"

"Wyoming. Maybe we should stop by Bobby's on the way there; we'll have to go right through South Dakota anyway." They were in Minnesota now, and for late spring or early summer it was still remarkably cool—cold at night, even. Then again, it was Minnesota.

Well, maybe they had been stuck here for several days working this case, but at least the cool air and general lack of humidity were easier on Sam.

"Yeah…we probably should."

Dean pushed himself up on his elbows, frowning at the answer. Or…not at the answer, but the tone in which the answer was given. "Sammy?"

His brother looked pointedly back to the computer. "What?" he asked tiredly.

Dean opened his mouth, but nothing would come. "Never mind." Sam grimaced, but he pretended not to notice. He got up to pack everything that he wouldn't need tonight, when he noticed the box of Kleenex at his brother's elbow.

"Dude, what's up with the tissues?"

"What? Oh." Sam shifted in his chair. "Those were there when we came in."

"I thought they were on the nightstand when we came in."

His brow furrowed. "In a lot of motels they are, but _those_ have been on the table since we got here."

Dean blinked. "Uh…ok." Why did this conversation make him uneasy all of a sudden? He went back to packing, and all was silent for several long minutes. Sam was reading, not surfing, and there wasn't even the sound of his fingers on the laptop keys.

But it was Sam who cut the silence, when he broke into a coughing fit. It happened too often now, and this time it sounded mild enough that it didn't warrant immediate attention. Still, Dean looked up once he had his bag zipped.

The coughing was already trailing off, and Sam was shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweat jacket.

"You ok?"

"Yeah," Sam answered dismissively. He stood and headed for the bathroom, swallowing for some reason. At the bathroom door he pulled his oxygen tube off to go in, leaving the loop dangling on the edge of the shelf there, and closed the door behind him. Dean heard the coughs start up again on the other side of the door. He stood where he was, waiting for them to stop again.

They didn't.

"Sam?" He crossed quickly to the door and pounded, but the only answer he heard was a series of thuds. "Sam!" Dean shoved the door open, more than grateful that it wasn't locked.

He found his brother halfway to his knees, hanging on the edge of the counter in front of the sink and trying to pull himself back up.

"What the hell?" He quickly took hold of him from behind to help. When Sam swayed and his body didn't seem to want to go up, Dean lowered him to the floor against the wall behind him instead. For once he had no complaints about narrow bathrooms.

"Just lost my balance," Sam said immediately, but he was wincing and his voice was rough and it came out on a breath and Dean barely heard him.

Dean swallowed hard. "Lost your balance or got dizzy?" he snapped, more harshly than he'd meant to. Sam acted like he wanted to get up, or find some witty answer, but he said nothing and he didn't seem to be able to move very far. He slumped back against the wall, pulling in air with difficulty. Dean straightened, crossing his arms momentarily as he huffed in frustration to cover the sharp pang of worry.

That was when he saw the blood in the sink.

That was also when he discovered how fast one could develop balance-detrimental tunnel vision.

Dean couldn't quite see Sam, but somehow he knew Sam saw him. It didn't take long before he was on his ass on the floor right beside his brother, and he knew that Sam knew exactly what he'd seen. "Sammy…?" he all but gasped. When he finally managed to blink the black from the edges of his vision he looked, and Sam was staring uneasily at the floor, arms tucked around his chest.

"I'm sorry," he whispered after a moment.

"For…what? How…" He swallowed convulsively, trying to get rid of the sudden lump and trying to avoid asking the question. He didn't _want_ to ask the question. "How long?"

"On and off, for a month or so, but it wasn't so bad," Sam answered dully. "It wasn't like this until a couple of weeks ago."

Dean just stared at first. "Weeks? A month…?" He stood quickly, scrubbing his hands nervously through his hair. "Sam, you should have _told _me! We should have gotten you back to a doctor, o-or _something_. God…we'll go now. We'll—"

"I called Bennett, Dean. There's nothing else anyone can do. I asked. This is just…part of it."

His mouth went dry. "Which part?" he asked hoarsely. He knew he sounded horrified, but he didn't care. He was.

Sam reached into one of the pockets he'd been shoving his hands into a minute ago, out at the table. He tugged out a wad of Kleenex, splotched red, and miserably tossed them into the small trash can by the sink. He only looked up for a moment, but it was enough.

_No…_

Something inside Dean snapped, and suddenly he had twisted and all but ran from the bathroom. The tunnel vision returned, and all he could see was the door, and he wanted to scream and he wanted to cry and he just wanted it all to be _gone_, and all he could do was run.

He barely heard the motel room door slam behind him.

* * *

"Dean!"

Either his brother didn't hear him, or didn't want to. It wouldn't have surprised him that the cry never reached Dean's ears. His throat was still rough, and it hadn't come out loud at all.

Sam swayed forward and grabbed the edge of the sink again, hauling himself slowly and not so surely to his feet, grimacing. His ribs had long since healed and stopped aching, once the infection was treated, but his chest itself still hurt. It hurt worse now, after the coughing. His chest hurt and he could never get enough air anymore, and he never had enough strength anymore…

Much of it he tried to keep from Dean, just to cut down on the stress, but there was only so much he could hide. Still, he didn't think his brother had realized just how bad things were getting…until now.

The front door slammed, and Sam hurried out of the bathroom and staggered across the motel room to open it again. He didn't think about what he was doing, or if he could do it, or any of those things.

He only knew that he didn't want Dean to be _away_. Not for any length of time.

Not right now.

He was exhausted and hurting and he knew everything was going to hell much too quickly, and he wanted his brother, and he didn't know where Dean was going. Dean was upset, and an upset Dean off somewhere and able and willing to cause damage to others and himself was _not_ something he wanted to deal with right now

"Dean!" Hanging for a moment on the doorframe, he could see his brother down the sidewalk in the light from the streetlamps, already halfway to the road. "Dean, wait!"

Sam knew he probably shouldn't, but he lurched into a jerky pursuit anyway. His chest complained sharply, and so did the dizziness, but he ignored it. "Dean!"

But Dean couldn't hear him. He couldn't call loud enough; his throat was still coated from the blood, and it still hurt too much from coughing. All he could do was pick up the pace and catch up on his own, just before his brother would have turned onto the sidewalk that lined the street. He reached out and grabbed a hunched shoulder.

"Dean, _wait_—!"

Dean spun in surprise, just as the world spun harder and his legs called it quits. His brother caught him and lowered him to him knees, swearing under his breath as he came down with him. "Sam! Damnit; what are you doing?" he demanded tightly.

"Chasing you," he croaked weakly. When he had more air he looked up again, and realized that Dean's face was streaked with tears. "God, Dean…"

"What the hell'd you follow me for?" Dean complained angrily. He left Sam on his knees on the concrete and pushed back to his feet, turning away to dry his face. "I was coming right back."

Sam swallowed. "I was worried about you, okay?"

"Well I didn't want—!" he stopped abruptly; hung his head…but Sam still heard the rest of the sentence. _I didn't want you to see this._

"I'm sorry," he repeated quietly.

Dean finally spun back to face him. "Sorry for what? You didn't do anything; that bitch Leah did." He let out a breath and stooped to help his brother up. "Come on; let's get you back inside."

Sam sacrificed what was left of his energy to hold Dean down near him. "Wait…"

Dean dropped some from his crouch and let a knee rest on the pavement. "What?"

For a moment he just held onto his brother's arms, keeping him there and wondering if he could really say what he wanted to say.

Because he had made his decision. Maybe it was because he was afraid of the end, if it came, and maybe it was because it had hurt too much when Dean ran out that door a moment before, but Sam had finally made up his mind.

"Dean…I know this is hard for you. I _know_ it's hell. I remember what it was like, when you were sick, but…sometimes I feel like _I'm_ the one losing _you_," he said quietly, almost reluctantly.

"What?" Dean repeated, in confusion this time.

Sam swallowed again, knowing Dean wouldn't want to hear this but knowing he had to do it anyway. "I feel like you're pulling away, and I hate it." He blinked back the sudden tears; they wouldn't make anyone any more comfortable. He had to look away to keep them at bay, but still he gripped his brother's arms.

"Don't let go of me before I'm gone, Dean. I've never really asked you for much, but I'm asking you for this now. I _know_ it hurts, and I'm _sorry_…but I need this," he croaked. "I can't lose you before I even have to go anywhere. I can't."

He expected a fight. He thought maybe Dean would deny it all, insist that he wasn't acting any differently than usual, call him crazy or too mushy or ridiculous…he expected anything but what happened. Instead of an immediate reaction Dean looked at him for a long moment, swallowed, and nodded just a little.

"Okay," he answered softly.

Sam blinked. "_Okay_?"

"Yeah. You're right." His head dropped forward for a moment. "I wasn't trying too, Sammy. I really wasn't. It just…happened." He hesitated. "I guess part of me thought it would be easier," he grimaced.

"It would be," Sam whispered. "For you." He let out something between a sob and a laugh.

Dean forced a smirk. "Whaddya know? Sam Winchester is being selfish for once."

He winced. "Yeah, make me feel even worse about it."

"Nah. You've got a right; you shouldn't feel bad."

Sam looked at him incredulously…but gratefully. "So what do we do now?"

Dean actually smiled that time, a little. "We stick together, and we keep looking for a way out of this—and for that demon, I guess."

"Sounds like a plan to me," he sighed. He tried to stand up, but there was nothing there—no cooperation from his body at all. Dean got one of his younger brother's arms over his shoulder and pulled him up, grunting and complaining all the way.

"God you're heavy," he grumbled, as they hobbled back to the room.

"It comes from being a head taller than you."

"Oh shut up. Four inches is not a head, and…I'm still older."

Laughing sent him into another coughing fit that didn't help him in making his legs keep up with his brother's tugging, and by the time Dean pulled him to his bed Sam couldn't breathe.

The world fuzzed out until his oxygen tube suddenly appeared at his nose, and while he worked to get the air into his lungs Dean went to fill the nebulizer for a treatment. The oxygen helped, but Sam didn't open his eyes again or let his focus waver until the nebulizer mask was settled over his nose and mouth, and breathing became easier still.

When he opened his eyes he found Dean sitting beside him, staring down at him worriedly.

"I'm fine, Dean," he mumbled through the plastic.

"Yeah," his brother deadpanned. Dean didn't move from Sam's side until the treatment had been taken, and he'd set the nebulizer out of the way and replaced the loop of the oxygen tube over Sam's head. "Just try to get some sleep, okay?"

Sam nodded even though he wasn't sure he wanted to, but in the end he didn't have a choice. The adrenaline was gone and it wasn't long before his eyelids felt too heavy to lift. He was out moments later—but not before he managed to pick up what Dean whispered, broken and barely audible.

"Just don't go anywhere on me tonight, little brother. Please…"


	21. Chapter 21

Okidoki, here ya go. Sorry to post in the middle of the night--again--but with Dad home and on the computer all the time it's the only time I get to write. I usually write better late at night anyway, for some reason....

Anyway, this chapter was both hard and easy to write. I've had peices of many of these scenes in my head from the beginning, almost, so I can't wait to know what you think of them. Thanks so much for all ya'lls support on my first SPN fic so far! :) Enjoy. (Or cry, or...whatever.)

ABBY NOTE: In case ya'll were wondering if I had a face for Abby...I do. Maybe not at first, but with all the Gilmore Girls I've been watching, it definately became Alexis Bledel--like circa early season five-ish as far as hair, by how I described Abby at first. Maybe it's a little cliche, but what can I say? I was a total sucker for Rory/Dean from the beginning, and ya gotta admit that even though I didn't start out thinking about Alexis, Abby did turn out not to be so different from Rory except for the whole being-a-Christian thing. :P Oh well, lol.

Chapter 21

Dean barely slept. He spent most of the night staring across the space between the beds, watching his brother sleep—watching his brother _alive_. He hadn't dozed off for long before he was up for the morning, unable to sleep any more. He packed everything that wasn't already in a bag and loaded his own things in the car, waiting for Sam to wake. By the time he did, Dean was getting off the phone with the roadhouse.

He must have sounded angry, because though Sam blinked up at him groggily, there was definitely some concern in there. "Dean? What's up?"

"Hey. Ah…Ash still doesn't have anything—not on the demon, or…anything else. That's all."

"'M sure he's trying," Sam mumbled.

"Right. Yeah. Anyway, ah, we've still got that address in Wyoming. We should get going, because when I said we might want to stop at Bobby's on the way through, I meant we have to. He kind of insisted—not that I have a problem with that. We can stop there tonight and keep going in the morning."

"Sure…" But he still wasn't quite awake, and didn't really seem to be listening.

"Sam, hey," Dean said, and shook him a little.

His brother started, wincing. "What…?"

"Time to go…" he said uneasily.

Sam glanced up, caught a glimpse of the clock and groaned. "Right…sorry."

Something about the way he looked and the way he was moving made Dean swallow and re-think. "Or, you know, we don't have to. We can wait until tomorrow."

"What? No…I'm getting up."

"You sure? If you're feeling bad then you should just rest. It's okay, really."

"These days if I rested when I felt bad I would never get out of bed," Sam snorted quietly, clumsily pushing the covers away. Without thinking Dean moved as if to help, but his brother gave him a firm look that made him quickly back away.

"Right, uh…you get ready, and I'll just…wait."

Sam nodded once and got up. He was agonizingly slow getting dressed and packed, but that was hardly new by now. Still, Dean had a bad feeling he couldn't shake. It didn't help when Sam fell asleep again barely fifteen minutes into the trip to Bobby's, and it was hard waking him up when they got there. On top of his own lack of sleep, he didn't know what that could mean.

Bobby had to come out to help him get Sam inside—pulling the generator so they wouldn't have to take him off it to bring him in. They settled him in the bed in the room they used when they were here, and Bobby quickly pulled Dean back out into the kitchen. The man was nearly in panic mode, and Bobby didn't panic.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me it was this bad?"

Dean blinked. "What are you talking about?"

"I saw him two weeks ago, and he wasn't this bad."

"I told you when we talked he's been getting worse ever since, but not even _I_ knew how _much_ worse until last night. Apparently he's been coughing up blood, and believe me when I say that I sure as hell would have told you _that_ if I'd known."

Bobby grimaced. "God." It took him a moment to process that one. "Dean, still…couldn't you tell he's worse just by looking at him? I…" He let out an unsteady breath. "I don't think you understand."

"Understand what…?"

"We're out of time," he answered quietly.

Dean swallowed. "I know we're running out of time; I've known that for weeks."

"No, Dean; I mean we're _out_ of time."

"W-hat the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?"

Bobby swallowed now, and wouldn't look at him. "I don't think we're working with any more than a few days here—maybe a week or two."

Dean just stared at him incredulously. "You can't be serious." The look on his friend's face said he was. "But…but we were supposed to have months—a lot of months; six or eight or ten, not _three or four_. It can't be that bad yet," he protested desperately.

"You think I want this?"

"No! I just…no. You're wrong," he said rigidly. "You have to be wrong." He couldn't accept anything else. He couldn't accept it, because he had to hold on. He'd promised Sam he would hold on.

"Dean—"

"No." His jaw clenched, and he was hard pressed to unlock it again to finish the conversation. "I'm not hungry. I'm going to bed. We're leaving for Wyoming in the morning." It was only late afternoon, but he didn't have the willpower to stay awake when it could lead to thinking.

Bobby nodded slowly. "It's worth a shot, but let me come with you."

Dean shook his head immediately. "I can take care of this."

Bobby looked at him for a long moment, and it didn't help that his eyes weren't dry—neither were Dean's. "All right…but if nothing turns up there I want you boys to come right back."

He knew why Bobby wanted that, but he refused to give the thought full form. Instead Dean just nodded, because there was no reason not to agree. "Okay."

* * *

Sam had known things were bad, but he knew they were worse when Dean let him sleep late without even _trying_ to wake him up earlier at first. He knew they were worse from the way Bobby hugged him before they left—trying to make it seem casual, but holding on too long—and the way Dean skipped checking in at a motel first and headed straight for the address he had on a piece of paper in his shirt pocket.

He knew because of the way Bobby had looked at him before they left, and the way Dean kept looking at him now.

Sam knew because he could feel it. Everything hurt and air was harder and harder to get, and he couldn't stay awake. He couldn't stay awake, but he was almost afraid to fall asleep. He was becoming afraid that the next time he fell asleep he wouldn't wake up.

"Dean…"

More than once, he tried to say something—something, anything, everything—but his brother cut him off every time.

"Don't, Sammy," he said quietly. "You're not going anywhere. I'm not letting you go."

It hurt that Dean wouldn't let him say what he thought needed to be said, but then again, hopefully there would be a few more chances. If not…maybe it was enough that Dean had listened to him two nights ago. Sam felt he could be satisfied with that, if he had to be.

He didn't want to go _anywhere_, but if he had to it was enough that his brother had listened to him then.

It told him that Dean loved him, and that was all Sam needed to know. He could even go without seeing the demon dead himself, as long as he had that.

* * *

The house was on the outskirts of a small town that was barely there, and while the only sign by the mailbox spoke a generic "Welcome" the beaten-down grass and gravel of the driveway that was also barely there told the tale of many visitors. It was the only thing that set the house apart from any nearby.

Sam sat forward a little, already grimacing but acting as if he thought he should be getting out. Dean held him back with a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Just hang here for a few minutes, okay? I'll come get you if there's a reason to."

His brother gave him a weary look and nodded, and settled back into the seat again. Dean climbed out of the car and hurried up the porch steps.

The woman who answered the door was blonde, but it was natural. She didn't seem to be any older than her late thirties—maybe. She didn't look bad at all. If he'd had the presence of mind for such things he would have been hitting on her already. And this was an address Bobby had supposedly dug up from twenty years ago or more?

"Yes?"

"Uh…hi. Uhm, a Bobby Singer sent us here…I don't know if you—"

"Of course I remember Bobby. You must be one of John Winchester's boys."

He frowned in confusion. "You knew Dad, too?"

"Not exactly…are you Dean?"

"Yeah…"

She nodded and stepped away from the door. "Come in, Dean."

The inside of the house was just as ordinary as the outside, but for the presence of an unusual number of books—not unlike Bobby's house, but much more organized.

"Well…Bobby must have lost my address through the sands of time, or he probably would have sent you here sooner. Then again, I'm sure I remember him better than he remembers me. It's always that way. Anyway…I've been expecting you to show up any day now."

Dean turned in surprise. "So what…you're a psychic, too?"

She shrugged. "It's not what I'm best at, but yes."

"Then do you already know _why_ I'm here?"

"Your brother is sick."

He nodded in answer, and the truth he hadn't let himself think spilled out before he knew it was going to. "I'm losing him. I'm losing him right now, while he's sitting out there in that car, and there's nothing I can do about it—there's nothing _anybody _can do about it."

The woman winced a little, and the expression she gave him held too much sympathy for Dean to want to hear what she said next.

"Dean, I'm sorry. I can't help, either."

He wasn't really surprised. It wasn't by any means what he'd wanted to hear, but he wasn't really surprised. "Oh."

"Don't blame Bobby; I'm sure he thought I could. I've healed before, and that must be what he remembers, but I've never been able to help anyone terminally ill." She hesitated. "I think I can only do what the Lord allows."

Dean's eyebrows went up tiredly. "Then you're a believer."

"I am," she nodded. "I've always believed that's where anything I can do comes from. There are those who would argue the opposite, and those who say such abilities don't come from anywhere in particular, but…I believe what I believe," she shrugged.

"Whatever floats your boat, I guess."

She smiled sadly. "I'm sorry I can't help you. But…if your brother needs somewhere to rest before you move on, the two of you are welcome to take my guest room for the night."

Dean tried to swallow, but his throat was all but closed. "Thanks, but we'll just find a motel," he said roughly.

"All right. There's one back just on the other side of the interstate exit."

He nodded once more in thanks and swept past her for the door, eyes on the floor because he didn't want this virtual stranger to see the tears there.

"Dean…"

He stopped, holding open the screen door and with a hand on the knob of the outer one. "What?"

"If it's not his time to go, then he won't. Anything could happen. You should be prepared…but you don't have to give up."

Dean shrugged and let out a breath. "Sure. Thanks."

* * *

Sam was still awake when he got back to the car, but not by much. It seemed he'd only been holding onto consciousness to hear what happened inside. "Anything?" he asked quietly.

Dean didn't have to say anything to answer. Sam fell asleep again quickly, and he called Bobby as he pulled out onto the back country highway.

Sam didn't wake up when Dean hauled him into the motel room he checked them into, and he didn't wake up the next morning. Not really. When he tried he got a groan, or a few mumbled words. Sometimes his eyes opened, but not for long.

Sam's phone rang, late in the morning. Dean picked it up and answered it before he thought to check the caller ID.

"_Sam_?"

The voice was female. "Excuse me?"

"_Dean_? _Is that you_? _Where's Sam_?" the voice asked insistently.

It dawned on him. "Abby?"

"_Yes_!" The voice was worried now. "_Where's Sam_? _He calls me every week or so, but I haven't heard from him in almost three weeks now_."

"Oh…uhm…he can't come to the phone right now," Dean grimaced, lowering himself into a chair at the table and glancing anxiously over at his brother.

"_He—_"

He rested his forehead in his free hand once he'd braced the elbow on the table. "He's sleeping," he answered.

"_But…it's…_"

"I know what time it is," Dean snapped, more harshly than he'd meant too.

Abby let out a breath, and fell silent for a long moment. "_He's getting worse, isn't he_?" she asked softly.

He stared at the table top for about the same amount of time before answering. "Yeah," he said dejectedly. "He's worse."

The next question was barely audible. "_How _much_ worse_?" Dean couldn't answer that one, and eventually he heard a quiet sob from the other end of the line. "_W-where are you_?" she asked finally.

"Wyoming."

Another sob, muted but laced with frustration. "_Finals are coming up in a few days. I can't get there._"

Dean sighed. "It's okay. I don't think he'd expect you to."

"_But…maybe I could. I don't have to study every waking hour. I-I could borrow money from Michelle; I know she has it. I could fly out there, and—_"

"Abby, no. Don't take any chances. I don't know what Sam may have told you or not, but because of all the crap we've had to deal with, he never got to finish school. I'm…sure he wants you to do your best. Make sure you graduate."

"_My grades are all fine…_" she protested weakly.

"But could they take missing or failing your finals? Even if you still graduated all right, would you be happy with that?" She didn't answer. "Take your exams, Abby. To be honest, by the time you got everything straightened out to get here…" He couldn't think it, and he couldn't finish the sentence, but he got that far. He didn't want to accept it, but the truth was the truth and she deserved to know it whether _he _wanted to or not.

Abby sobbed again. "_So…there wouldn't be any point_?"

"Probably not," Dean gulped. "Look, if…if it helps any, he wanted to come to your graduation—if we found a way to fix this."

"_No; that just makes it worse_," she whispered.

"I'm sorry."

"_It's okay…I'm sure I'll be glad I knew that later…_"

Dean's jaw clenched again, and his eyes closed. "I should go." He couldn't handle this anymore.

"_Fine, but Dean_?"

"Yeah?"

The request was faint, on the end of taxed emotional nerves. "_If you get a chance, please tell Sam I'm thinking about him…and that I'm still praying_." If Dean knew anything about these Christian girls…or at least about this one—and through this one, his opinion of them all was going up—it was her way of saying she loved his brother.

It took a moment before he could answer that.

"Okay," he managed finally.

"_Goodbye, Dean_," she said faintly.

"Bye, Abby."

* * *

When Sam finally seemed to wake up, sometime after lunch, though he was coherent he didn't want to move. Dean had to help him to the bathroom door to get him to go, and once he'd gotten him back into the bed Sam didn't seem interested even in the idea of eating. It was a struggle to get him to drink any water. Then he was out again.

Dean waited the rest of the day, but Sam didn't surface again. By then he was on the verge of panic. He tried calling Bobby for nearly half an hour before the older man picked up.

"_Sorry, Dean; I was trying to get more research in. What is it_?"

"It's Sam. He didn't want to get out of bed, and he wouldn't eat, and he barely drank anything, and now he just won't wake up—at all. What the hell's going on, Bobby? What am I supposed to do?" he said quickly.

For a moment there was silence on the other end of the line. "_Are you still at the motel in Wyoming_?"

"Yeah, right off the interstate near that address. Why?"

"_I'll be right there_."

"But can't you just tell me what to do? I mean, shouldn't I get him back to you? Come on, Bobby; give me more than that. What do I do here?"

He could almost hear Bobby making a face. "_You wait right there; you shouldn't move him now. I'm coming to you_."

"But…why?" He didn't really want to know the answer.

Bobby sighed miserably, and his answer was barely audible. "_I want to see him again, Dean_."

Dean snapped the phone shut before he heard anything else, and leaned heavily on the wall, pulling in heavy breaths. _No. No no no NO…_

His legs didn't seem to want to cooperate with him, but he dragged himself to Sam's bedside and dropped to his knees on the floor, barely remembering to catch himself on the edge of the bed. He clung there for a long moment, immobile, until a hand moved seemingly of it's own accord to run gently through his brother's hair and push it away from his face.

Sam's skin felt too cold and clammy, but a warm breath that hadn't come easily blew across his hand as he pulled it back to grip his brother's arm.

"You can't go anywhere, Sam. You can't." Dean gave a dry sob, and told the truth. "I'm not ready, Sammy," he whispered. "I'm not strong enough."

* * *

It was the middle of the night when Bobby made it to Wyoming, to mostly the middle of nowhere, but Dean was still wide awake. Bobby found him with red-rimmed eyes and a set jaw, waiting.

He was concerned for Dean, but Bobby couldn't focus on him until he'd seen Sam. He sat on the edge of the bed for several long moments, and almost wished he hadn't seen enough in his lifetime to know what he did.

"Bobby?"

He stood slowly, and he wasn't sure why he eased the boy back across the room to talk to him, but he did it anyway.

"Well? Why won't he wake up? Can't we do something?"

Bobby took a deep breath and shook his head. "No, Dean. There's nothing we can do. This is just…the way it happens sometimes." God…why? He'd seen these boys grow up. He had no desire to watch one of them die—especially when he knew it would kill the other.

Dean looked away; he seemed to have been expecting the answer. "Would it make any difference at all if we got him to a hospital?" he asked tightly.

He shrugged. "Maybe a couple of days…"

"So not really."

"No…"

Dean blinked back tears. "What about now?"

Bobby swallowed; he didn't want to answer that question any more than the boy wanted to hear the answer. "I'd…be surprised if he makes it through tomorrow, Dean." He hesitated briefly. "I don't think he'll wake up."

The first sob came then, as Dean braced a hand on the wall to hold himself up. If he'd still been a child Bobby would have pulled him into his arms, but he wasn't, and he didn't know _what_ to do now.

He couldn't make it better.

Bobby put a hand on Dean's shoulder, and the boy reached up to clamp a hand on his arm for a moment in return before he composed himself, shoved away from the wall and let go. He didn't say a word as he paced across the room, scrubbing at his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Bobby heard himself say. If only he could do more than offer useless platitudes.

Dean stopped his pacing by the door, and looked over at Sam. He stared for a long moment before his gaze shifted to the keys that had been left on the shelf beside him.

In seconds he had snatched them up, thrown the door open, and stormed out.

"Dean!"

Bobby followed him quickly, stopping in the doorway. "What the hell are you doing?" he shouted, watching the boy climb into the Impala.

"Something besides sitting around and letting my brother die!"

He would have stopped him, but there was no way to do it. He would have followed, but he couldn't leave Sam alone. Bobby had no choice but to watch Dean leave.

* * *

For a long time there was nothing, really—snippets of words here and there, and not always understanding. He remembered Dean, and that was really all. Then nothing. There was nothing, but he didn't even know it was nothing because it was nothing.

Then there _was _something.

Images.

A vision?

The images were blurry and distorted at first, like the visions, but it didn't hurt like the visions usually did now. It was just there.

There was a woman, and a house, and…no, it wasn't just a house.

It was _the_ house. It was the house where Leah had started all of this—the house where she had killed him.

There was a woman, and she was there, and when she spoke her voice was familiar. _You look so much like him…so much like him_, she whispered sadly. _I couldn't save him. I couldn't save any of them. But perhaps…_

Perhaps what?

_You must come…_

Then she was gone, and the house was gone, and the nothingness was gone, and everything hurt again, and Sam opened his eyes.


	22. Chapter 22

Sorry ya'll; had to work on my fic exchange fic. Anyway, here you go. :) I hope you'll let me know what you think, and come back for the rest! It should be very soon! Thanks so much. :)

Chapter 22

Dean had been staring at the crossroads for more than an hour, wondering what the hell he was doing here and why he hadn't gotten out of the car at the same time. What was he doing here? Was he crazy? But then again, what was he waiting for? There was no more time. None. If it was the only way...

He almost jumped out of his skin when his cell phone rang. Bobby had been attempting to call him every few minutes or so up until about half an hour ago. It had been thirty minutes of silence since he'd heard a damn thing. He stared at the cell, letting it ring, telling himself he wasn't going to answer it now, either.

Then he did.

"What?" he snapped.

"_Dean, thank god. Where the hell are you_?"

He hesitated. "Doesn't matter."

"_You need to get back here. Now_."

Something in his chest clenched tightly, nearly cutting off his air. "Why?"

"_Sam's awake_."

"Excuse me?"

The incredulity was apparent now in Bobby's voice. "_I don't know, Dean; it just happened. He's extremely weak, but he's awake, and he wants you. He's insisting on it_." His voice dropped. "_You should hurry_."

Dean had to swallow several times before he could answer. "I'm coming." Bobby met him outside the motel room door after he'd screeched into the parking lot.

"I thought you said he wouldn't wake up."

"I said _probably_, but I'm no doctor. Still...I don't see how it's possible. He _shouldn't_ be awake, much less coherent..." Bobby trailed, shaking his head.

"So he's _awake_ awake? I can talk to him?" Dean asked quietly.

Bobby sighed. "Like I said, he's insisting on it. He _woke up_ asking for you; says it's important. Whatever it is, I'd get in there and take advantage of whatever chance you've got here," he answered gently.

"Right..." he choked. Bobby moved and he pushed past to open the door, but his friend didn't seem to be following.

"I'll just wait out here."

"Oh." Dean shrugged and went in, closing the door quietly behind him.

Sam hadn't moved much, but his eyes were open, and he tried to push up when he saw his brother. He failed miserably.

Dean moved quickly to his brother's side. "Sammy. Hey...Bobby said you wanted to talk to me?"

He nodded weakly. "I think I had a vision..."

"A—what?" He'd been expecting to hear the things Sam had been trying to tell him for days. He'd been expecting something else. This time he'd even been half prepared to listen. He _hadn't_ been expecting that. "Really? Of what?"

"The house...in Mississippi, where everything happened, and...a woman. I don't think she was alive." Sam paused to pull in a few shallow breaths; enough to keep going. "I thought the voice I heard back at the house was in my head...but it was her. It was real. I know it."

Dean frowned. "Sam, what are you talking about?" What if Bobby was wrong? What if Sam was gone and this was only the misfiring brain synapses of a dying shell? His breath caught in his throat. "Sam?"

"She told us—me to come back. She said I had to go there."

"Why the hell would you want to go _there_? There's nothing there but an empty house and a bunch of crap neither of us wants to remember."

"No...no, _she's _there," he muttered insistently, already drifting back toward unconsciousness. "She's there and we have to go there..."

Dean clamped a hand on his brother's shoulder and shook just enough to keep him awake. "Sam, don't you dare. Stay with me," he demanded.

Sam's eyes opened again and he grabbed Dean's arm in a surprising grip. "We have to go back."

"_Why_?"

"I think she can help..."

"Help you?"

He nodded again.

"Are you sure it was a vision and not some crazy dream?"

"It didn't hurt...but I know it was real—different than a dream. It was...like the first visions. It was real," Sam repeated.

Dean sat back on his heels and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Sam...how the hell could a woman or a ghost or whatever she is help you? I just don't get it; there was nothing there when we were there besides that psychotic bitch that did all this."

"Well, we really never got a chance to look around."

"Leah said she swept the place; she said there was no ghost."

Sam looked like he wanted to laugh, but didn't have the air for it. "Dean...she was insane. She could have missed something."

He opened his mouth, but he didn't have a comeback for that one. And...why was he questioning this, anyway? He_ wanted_ to find a way to save his brother.

He let out a breath. "So you're sure it was a vision?"

"I'm sure..."

Dean swallowed and nodded, standing slowly. "Okay...okay." He gave Sam's shoulder a squeeze before he headed for the door again. "I'll be right back."

He found Bobby sitting in his own car outside, with the key in the radio quietly on. He only had to knock on the window once before the older hunter pulled the key out and took it with him as he climbed from the car. "What is it?"

"Sam had a vision."

"What? How?"

"I have no more idea how than you do, but he did. I guess that's why he woke up; maybe it _helped_ him wake up. I don't know. I just know he's awake, and he had a vision."

"What about about?"

Dean paced away. "About that house back in Mississippi. He's says there was some woman or ghost there or something, and he says we have to go back—that there might be something there that can help him."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know! But these visions of his have never been wrong. There may really be something there. What, I don't know, but something."

"We're in Wyoming! Do you _know_ how long it would take to get to Mississippi from here? At _least_ eighteen hours, _if_ we hauled ass, and I don't even know if we can move him..."

He swallowed and turned back to Bobby. "We have to try. What other choice do we have?"

"Dean—"

"Bobby, please!" It wasn't until then that he realized he was shaking, and he quickly crossed his arms. Bobby just looked at him searchingly. "You said yourself that we're out of time, and this is the only thing we've got. If there's _any_ chance, so help me, we have to take it. I can't lose him—"

Dean cut off abruptly and let his head drop while he collected himself. "Please." It was long enough before he heard an answer that he thought something was wrong.

"Okay," Bobby sighed. "But we're taking your car, and we're taking turns driving. Both of us are gonna have to get at least _some_ sleep soon."

"But what about your car?"

"This isn't that far from home; I can come back for it later. I'll talk to whoever's at the desk at this hour; pay 'em something if I have to to make sure it doesn't get towed off. Then we can go, but I'm driving first. I know you've been up a lot longer than I have."

"Bobby—"

"No, Dean. If we're gonna do this, we're gonna do it my way. I'll drive first, and we can put the oxygen generator in the passenger's seat so you can stay in the back with Sam. You don't have to stay awake—like I said, I _want_ you to sleep if you can—but I don't want him back there alone."

Dean nodded. "Fine—makes sense." The shaking had stopped, but his shoulders were still locked up. He carefully released the muscles and sighed. "Thank you."

* * *

Sam was cold, and the back seat of the Impala had always been a little bumpy. Those facts would have worked together to make for a miserable trip if Dean hadn't taken the comforter from the motel bed. Sam had made some small sound of protest when Bobby and his brother had bundled him in it and carried him to the car, but Dean wouldn't hear it.

"We'll have to come get Bobby's car anyway; we can always bring it back," he'd muttered.

Now he was glad he'd left it at that. The thick blanket fixed both problems...though Dean, too, helped with the first.

Sam was quite certain that in any other circumstance, if he were in his right mind, it would have been embarrassing or uncomfortable lying in the arms wrapped around him now as he rested against his brother's shoulder.

But here,_ now_, he was sure he would lose it if they weren't there.

He didn't know how long they had been driving. He couldn't remember everything that had happened since he'd woken up again back at the motel and scared the hell out of Bobby. Consciousness, awareness...it came and went. When it came there was pain, no matter how comfortable Dean tried to make him or what position his brother shifted him into in the attempt to make it easier to breathe.

There was no easier anymore. It was only hard. He could barely breathe at all, and he couldn't really move, and he was fairly certain that if he tried to talk it just wouldn't come out anymore.

But he didn't need to talk. Not now. Even if nothing came of this trip, of the vision...this was enough. Being here with Dean was enough, and he didn't mind that Bobby was there, either.

This was how he wanted it. If he couldn't be saved, this was how he wanted it. If he had to die Sam wanted to do it here, with the only two people left in the world that really loved him.

* * *

Sam seemed to be semi-awake for the first half of the trip, but by the time the night ended and the day had passed and evening was approaching again, and Dean was climbing into the back seat once more after his second turn driving, he hadn't moved in hours. The subtle, uneven in-and-out of his chest was the only indication of anything, and they were slowly losing _that_.

Dean pulled his little brother into his arms again, holding on maybe a little tighter than he should have. "How much farther?" he asked as Bobby pulled back out onto the interstate.

Bobby glanced back at him via the rear-view mirror. "We're in northern Mississippi now; I'd say two or three hours. Four at the most," he answered quietly.

He swallowed and tucked Sam's head under his chin. "Hurry."

The rest of the drive couldn't have passed quickly enough, but the relief at their arrival didn't compensate for the roiling in his gut when he saw the house again.

Dean gently settled his brother against the door as Bobby pulled into the gravel driveway, but before he bothered to get out he tried to rouse him. "Sam, we're here. Sammy?" He shook a little, tapped at Sam's face, but he was afraid to do anything else. It didn't matter, because it didn't seem that he was going to wake up.

His jaw clinched as he climbed quickly out of the car. Bobby already had his gun and the trunk open, and Dean yanked his own sawed-off from his bag. "Let's go."

Bobby cast a worried glance toward the back seat of the car. "We don't have much time. What the hell are we looking for?"

"If I knew what was in there we wouldn't need these," he snapped back, hefting his gun. "It could be a trap for all I know; there could be an ambush in there."

"I though you said his visions have never been wrong before."

"They haven't, but that doesn't mean what he's seen hasn't led to dangerous situations." Dean was already on the porch steps, with Bobby on his heels.

The front door was unlocked this time, and they went in with weapons ready. This time there were no darts—there was no Leah, no nothing. Then why were his hackles up already? Two steps in the door and he could feel..._something_. He hadn't felt it before, but he felt it now.

_Is he here?_

The question came from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"What the—"

"Ghost?" Dean muttered.

"Don't ask me."

_Is he here?_

Neither of them were certain how to answer that, but they were looking for the source down the barrels of their rifles.

Dean wasn't expecting the blur of color that darted past his face—white and cream and washed-out purple. He knocked back into wall with a good bit of force, and was seeing stars until Bobby shook him out of it.

"What the hell was that!" he yelped.

"Apparition, I think," Bobby answered uncertainly.

"You mean a ghost?"

"Not a very strong one. It wasn't even walking; it was hovering. I don't think it was solid."

"Which way did it go?" he demanded. Bobby glanced anxiously out the open front door in response, and Dean cursed under his breath. "Sam!" He was out on the porch again in seconds, scanning.

It was there, at the car, and it was at Sam's window. It looked like it was trying to get in at him.

"Hey!" He sprinted down the porch steps, firing when it didn't move. The first shot dispersed the woman-like figure, and he yanked the car door open. It hadn't touched Sam, but Dean suddenly felt the desperate need to check on him.

Sam all but dropped into his arms when he opened the door his brother had been leaned against, but that was fine. They needed to get him out of the damn car anyway. The vehicle was too easy a corner to be backed into—too hard to keep a ring of salt around, too hard to defend from inside...

Why the hell were they here? Was Sam wrong for once? Was it all a trap? But...what trap? Who was the woman? It wasn't Leah. She was salted and burned and buried—and she had probably never worn a purple sun dress in her life.

"Bobby!" That was all he had to say before the older hunter was at his side, helping him carefully pull Sam from the car and lay him on the ground. On his knees at his brother's head and still holding onto him, Dean glared worriedly up at the oxygen generator in the front passenger seat of the Impala. "Can we get him inside?"

"The thing _came_ from in there; I'm not sure that's such a good idea."

"Well what else are we supposed to do!"

Bobby let out a heavy breath. "Put a ring of salt here. Keep Sam inside it, and _I'll_ find the ghost."

"And do what? It's..." That was when he remembered what Sam had said about the previous owner of the house--months ago, when they'd first arrived. She'd disappeared. "It's probably the woman who owned the house. She's officially a missing person, so if she's dead there's no _telling_ where the body is. We can't salt and burn it."

And why had she led Sam back here anyway? To finish what Leah had started? But why? What the hell did she want?

"Damnit," Bobby groused.

The uncertainty brought the first moment of silence since the apparition had brushed past him, and it was then that Dean realized his brother was completely still in his arms.

"Sammy?"

Sam wasn't breathing.

"No, no, no!" he hissed. He pushed out from behind his brother to lay him flat. This was _not_ going to happen now. It couldn't happen now.

"What is it?" Bobby asked urgently.

"He's not breathing!" Bobby moved to come down with them, but Dean waved him off quickly. "Get the salt in case she comes back!"

Dean was leaning down to breath into Sam's lungs when Bobby stopped mid-stride, halfway around to the trunk. They both looked up to see the ghost hovering just above the gravel no more than a few feet away.

Bobby went for his gun, but she held up a hand.

_Wait. _

He hesitated.

The thin apparition of a woman looked to the brothers, an almost pleading expression on her face.

_No harm...I can help._

What?

Dean only blinked, and she was beside them, hovering low over Sam, reaching for his face. Everything in him wanted to fire on her, but he remembered what Sam had said, to convince him to come here in the first place.

Maybe...maybe it wasn't a trap after all. Maybe she could help.

If she could, the trip was well worth it. If she couldn't, he was going to lose Sam whether she helped that along or not.

There was the damn helplessness again.

Bobby looked back and forth between the ghost and Dean, but he didn't move. Dean's hand clamped onto his brother's arm, but he didn't move either.

The woman cupped Sam's face in her hands, and rested her forehead against his. _I couldn't save him. I couldn't save any of them. But perhaps…_


	23. Chapter 23

Finally! I had this done last night, but the site was down-ish. I couldn't upload. Anyway, here ya go. :) Don't worry though; it's not the last chapter! There's at least one more coming. Enjoy, and please do let me know what ya think. Thanks so much! :)

Chapter 23

Sam wasn't sure how long he'd been out of it, but he knew something had happened when he was suddenly able to gasp in a breath that he didn't have to fight for.

"Sammy?"

Sam's eyes opened quickly, but he didn't look for the source of the voice just yet. Instead he stared into wonder up into the faint outline of a woman's face he found above him She smiled softly and was gone.

"Sammy?" Dean repeated.

He slowly focused on his brother. "Dean?"

"What the hell happened? What'd she just do to you?"

"I..." Sam trailed off and took another breath. When that one was just as easy, he pushed off from the ground. If nothing had changed he wouldn't have gotten anywhere, but he did. He sat up—mostly. He couldn't be sure how much he was doing on his own because both Dean and Bobby automatically moved to help the second he started to try.

He sat for a moment against Dean, waiting to see if it had all been in his head.

It didn't seem that it was. He could still breathe, so he tentatively reached up to pull the oxygen tube from his nose.

"Sam—"

"No, it's okay...I think..."

"How ok?"

Sam grabbed Dean's arm and tugged weakly. The air was coming, but his body was still rather uncooperative. "Help me up..."

"What?"

"Just do it."

He saw Dean and Bobby exchanged glances, but Bobby shrugged and he and Dean obliged, each taking an arm and carefully hauling Sam to his feet. He swayed and staggered a bit when he got there, but he stayed upright—with a little help. Still, it was much better than anything else he'd been able to do in the past few days.

"Sam, what's going on?" Dean demanded anxiously.

He was clinging to his brother's shoulder to stay up, but he was slowly breaking into a smile. "I think she fixed it."

"Fixed it?"

"Fixed it," Sam nodded, taking a deep breath. "I...I can breathe. I think I'm ok."

"Then why do you look like you're about to fall over?"

"He's just weak, Dean. He's been sick for a while." Bobby gripped Sam's arm. "You're sure? You feel all right?"

Sam shrugged and swayed again, but only because the relief was dizzying. "Not _great_, but you're right...I've been sick for a while. That's probably _all_ it is. Everything else seems...different. Better. I can _breathe_, Dean," he grinned, letting out a weary laugh.

It didn't seem real. For three months he'd been sick, struggling for any air he could get, and now it came easily. Suddenly the only things bothering him were his stubborn, underused muscles.

Dean didn't seem to quite believe it either. "You're ok? Like _ok _ok?"

"I think so..."

"But...how?"

That was Dean; information before emotion. Sometimes, anyway.

"The ghost," Bobby interjected incredulously. "I think she gave him whatever energy she had. It couldn't have been much, as far as ghosts go—it's only been a couple of years since she died—but it must have been enough to help him."

"Is that possible?"

"I guess it is," Sam answered.

Dean frowned. "So what...it _was_ the woman who owned the house?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "It was her all right."

"How do _you_ know?"

Everything from before his eyes had opened came back. "She told me."

"She _told_ you?"

"Sort of."

"What do you mean?" Bobby asked.

He tried to find the right words for what had been left in his mind. "I think she kind of...told me her story? Enough to explain, anyway. It's all kind of...up there now," he said, motioning vaguely to his head.

Dean's eyebrows went up. "Well that's just weird."

"Then what's the story?" Bobby asked.

"It's kind of long...can we sit down?" Even if his internal organs were up to snuff now, his legs still didn't quite like him yet.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean said quickly, tugging him toward the porch of the house. Sam came, and Bobby followed slowly. Sam wasn't sure _any _of them had really registered _any_ of this yet. "Sit down. Are you sure you're okay?"

He let out a breath and lowered himself top the top step. Dean perched beside him, and Bobby leaned on the porch rail. "Yeah, I'm fine. I still don't get it, but I'm fine—just a little wobbly, I guess. I probably just need to get my strength back." He paused a moment, still wondering. "What...happened? What did you see before I woke up?"

Dean still had the look of a man processing, so Bobby told him how they'd arrived, and gone inside, and about the ghost.

"She just hovered there for a few minutes like that, over you, and then she faded. It did kinda look like she was transferring something to you—whatever it was that helped you. There's probably no real way to explain it; it's all metaphysical stuff."

"But she did it?" Dean asked. "She...healed him?"

Bobby finally smiled. "Seems like it."

Sam laughed once, more of a huff, and beside him he heard Dean release something that sounded similar. He looked at his brother, and Dean looked back.

"So...it's over?"

Sam blinked. "I guess it is," he repeated.

Dean huffed again and looked away for a moment, blinking something back. "Damn." His hand moved from the porch step to clamp onto Sam's shoulder and stay there tightly. Sam knew his brother would rather be hugging him but felt silly initiating it, and he could understand that, silly though it was. Dean was Dean, and Sam settled for a brief squeeze of his brother's shoulders. He took in an uncertain breath, still trying to absorb this.

"I guess we should get out of here?" Bobby questioned.

"Uh...yeah, I guess."

Dean glanced back at the house. "Yeah. I really don't wanna hang around here if we don't have to."

"Amen," Sam grimaced. They climbed to their feet, and Bobby pulled him into a firm embrace. When Bobby let go Dean's arm appeared under his shoulders, under the guise of offering continued support. Sam knew otherwise. He was feeling more steady, but he didn't protest.

They had only taken a step or two when a screech echoed behind them. They all twisted in surprise.

"What the hell was that?" Dean scowled.

"I'd love to know myself," Bobby frowned.

Sam swallowed. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

"Could you be any more cliché?" Dean muttered.

"Well I do," he frowned. "Let's just get out of here..."

They didn't have a chance to move before a figure appeared at the front door of the house and threw itself down the porch steps to wrap itself around Sam. From the corners of his eyes he saw Bobby and Dean thrown to the ground away from him, and then he slammed into the ground himself. The furious face that greeted him when he could focus was all too familiar, though it would have been easier to see without his air cut off.

Leah. And she was choking him.

"Sam!" Dean.

A gunshot rang out, and the ghost dispersed.

Sam rolled to his feet and found the friend who had fired. "Bobby, what the hell! I thought you salted and burned her!" he cried, coughing.

"I did, damnit. She must have attached to something in the house."

Dean pulled himself to his feet and came back to his brother's side, rubbing the side of his head where it had slammed into the gravel. "How can she even manifest yet, much less kick the crap out of us? It's only been three months since she died."

"She was insane. It's easier for unstable spirits to disconnect with whatever's left of their human side and grow angry enough to learn how to manifest quickly. She was plenty crazy and plenty angry even before she bought it; to be honest, this doesn't really surprise me," Bobby sighed.

"Well what are we supposed to do now?" Sam protested, with a hand still at his throat as he cleared it.

"There's no _way_ we're gonna figure out what she's attached to," Dean added, nodding. Leah coalesced again at the bottom of the porch steps, and Bobby pulled off another shot at her.

"Well we're gonna have to," the older hunter scowled. "We can't just leave; she could hurt someone else."

They broke off for the car, in search of the rock salt from the trunk. None of them realized Leah had pulled herself together again until Sam felt the hands around his neck, pulling back toward the house and cutting off his air again. He was yanked down off his feet and being dragged within seconds.

"D—n!" he gasped.

Leah had him through the door and into the front room of the house before she stopped, and that was all almost before Dean and Bobby had a chance to turn. Despite Sam's struggling her hands were still clamped like a vice around his throat, and his vision was already starting to fade. Even if his lungs were healed now, they didn't have their strength back yet any more than the rest of his body did.

He was going fast, and that seemed just find to the vengeful spirit.

Leah didn't want him to live.

"N—" He couldn't die now. Not after he'd gotten here, after he'd been _saved_. He couldn't just die. "N..."

Faintly Sam could hear Dean and Bobby charging up the steps, Bobby cocking his gun. It didn't seem that Dean had gotten a chance to grab his again, but he was coming anyway. Of course he would.

He couldn't just die now. He couldn't leave Dean.

Sam stopped moving. He didn't have the air or the energy to move anymore. He thought he heard a shot or two, but the air didn't come back. The hands didn't disappear. Bobby had, missed, or Leah was using him as a shield...

He didn't know. He doubted he would have felt it if he'd been moved at all, up or otherwise.

_No, no, NO!_

Sam gathered whatever was left and struggled one last time, but it did no good. He pried his eyes open, hoping to catch a glimpse of Dean and Bobby.

What he saw was the dim purple and white outline of the other ghost woman.

_He will live. _

She rushed them, and Leah let go. Sam collapsed to the wooden floor on his back, staring up at Leah as she was overtaken by the other ghost. Both of them went up in a flash of white light, and disappeared together. He had to squint from the brightness, and then all was dark again and he was left on the floor, gasping to catch his breath.

"Sammy!" Dean was on his knees at Sam's side in seconds, tugging at him to help him sit up and wrapping his arms tightly around his little brother. "God. Oh god..."

It took Sam a moment to shake off what remained of the oxygen deprivation and realize that Dean was practically trembling. He returned the embrace as tightly as he could. "Dean, I'm okay," he croaked. "I'm okay."

"Almost lost you _twice_, damnit. In twenty minutes," he growled. "God...don't _ever_ do that to me again."

"Believe me; I don't want to," Sam swallowed.

"Good," Dean answered. He let out an unsteady breath, tightening his hold. "You'll be fine...you're gonna be fine," he said, more to himself than anyone else.

Sam smiled to himself, and flashed the relieved expression up at Bobby, who was smiling tiredly along with him. "Yeah. I'm gonna be fine."

* * *

They left the house as quickly as they could, and bunked up at the only motel in Taylorsville, Mississippi ten miles away. The town was so small that they could see the church they'd stopped at on the way to Bobby's three months ago from the back window of their room—the only one they could get, since it _was_ the only motel nearby.

Sam and Bobby fell asleep almost immediately, one in each of the two beds the room had. Dean started out in the armchair by the door, but it wasn't only the fact that it was uncomfortable that kept him awake. He found himself staring across the room at his brother, almost afraid that if he fell asleep Sam wouldn't be there when he woke.

He ended up beside Sam, falling asleep there by choice this time.

He slept much better that way.

Dean let Bobby take the car in morning to grab breakfast, because he didn't want to leave. The feeling was still there—like Sam being all right was all in his head. He wasn't sure how long it would take him to get used to it.

Sam slept late, but they let him, and it wasn't until after everything Bobby had brought for breakfast was gone that they got back to the subject of the other ghost.

"So do you know what her name was?" Bobby asked.

"I didn't catch that, but I know what happened to her."

Dean's eyebrows went up. "Then what was it?"

Sam winced. "She uh...committed suicide. It wasn't anywhere near the house, but the house was where she lived with her husband, and her spirit stayed there. That's why no one ever found a body nearby; she drowned more than twenty miles away."

"Damn...so what, her husband died?"

He nodded. "That's what she was talking about...about who she couldn't save. They were in a bad traffic accident, and he was still alive after they rolled over. She tried to keep him that way until the ambulance arrived, but it was useless. She felt so guilty about it that she couldn't live with herself."

Bobby grimaced. "Poor girl."

"But didn't she say something about not being able to save 'any of them' or something? What was that?" Dean asked.

"She tried to stop Leah from killing the three victims she took to lure us there, but she wasn't strong enough to really do anything about it. She hadn't gotten to the point where she could physically manipulate anything yet."

"So she found a different way to do something."

"Yeah, I guess."

"And then she took Leah down. They canceled each other out," Bobby added.

Sam smiled a little. "So she's at peace now"

Dean shrugged. "Usually I wouldn't give a damn, but...well, she helped you, so..."

"I get it, Dean."

"Right." He stood to toss the trash from breakfast. "So uh, what are we gonna do with...you know, that junk? You don't need it anymore..."

Sam snorted. "I'd say burn it, but it's all metal and plastic."

Dean went back to the table, turning his chair to straddle it. "Then we should at least beat the crap out of it before we dump it. And can we do that soon? I am so ready to be out of Mississippi for good for a while."

"You and me both."

Bobby nodded. "Agreed."

Sam looked thoughtful for a moment, frowning. "Wait...what day is it?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Uh...Friday?"

"Yeah, thanks...look, I know you guys really don't want to, but could we stick around until Sunday?"

"Why..."

Sam glanced over his shoulder out the room's window. "I've got a promise to keep."

* * *

Bobby said his goodbyes the next day, and had the boys drop him off at the airport in Jackson. The Winchesters were going a different way when they left Mississippi, so he was taking a flight up to Wyoming to get his car.

"Just take care of yourselves," he made them promise.

The comforter from the Wyoming motel was never returned. It was almost stuffed in a dumpster along with the broken pieces of the nebulizer and oxygen generator, but Sam rescued it in time to stuff in under the back seat of the Impala. It could be useful in the future.

That, and...maybe it had a bit of sentimental value now.

Not that he would ever admit that to Dean.

Dean himself opted out of the trip Sam took across the two neighboring parking lots Sunday morning, to get to First Baptist Church of Taylorsville once again.

The walk was easy, and the climb up the stairs to the balcony wasn't troublesome this time. That alone was enough to make him want to send up a prayer of thanks—again. He'd already done it more than once since Thursday night.

He'd prayed every day for a long time, up until the incident with the ghost of the young pastor that had tried to be an angel. He hadn't stopped, exactly, but...he had slacked off, and he wasn't even sure why anymore.

Sam would never remember later what had happened—the songs he hadn't really participated in, or what the message had been about—but only because he was looking forward to the afterwords, not because they were dull. He did remember being glad he was there, feeling the same sense of inclusion, and even though there were still those in the congregation in more casual clothing, he still felt much less out of place this time having worn a suit.

He hurried down from the balcony as soon as the service was over, past Brother Frankie at the front door—shaking the man's hand as everyone else was—and out onto the sidewalk to wait for the person he was looking for.

It shouldn't have surprised him when she found him first.

"Sam!"

He spun in surprise, and there was Jessica Madison beaming up at him. "Hey," he grinned. "Where'd you come from?"

"I came out the side door over there."

"Oh."

"I'm so glad you came back! So your leg got better?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah...it got better. So did everything else."

She blinked in confusion. "Everything else?"

"I was actually pretty sick for a while."

"Oh...you _were _coughing when I saw you."

"Yeah, that had a lot to do with it."

"But you got better?"

"I got better," Sam smiled. "Thanks for praying for me. Everything really did turn out okay."

Jessica smiled back. "You're welcome—but God healed ya, not me."

Well he couldn't quite tell her the truth, could he? He doubted that would go over well. "Sure. I guess he did."

Before he realized she'd moved the girl had latched onto him. "I'm glad you're okay, Sam. It's good to see you again."

Sam laughed uncertainly and hugged her briefly before she let go. "Thanks. I'm glad I got to see you again, too."

She stepped back and looked up at him. "How's your brother?"

"He's fine. I...think we're both gonna be fine," he answered quietly.

"Good," she grinned, and waved as she backed away. "I gotta go; my mom and dad are waiting."

"Bye...have a good day." _Have a good life. A long one—without the crap I've had to deal with...without ever knowing the evil that killed _my_ Jessica._

The girl nodded. "You too! Bye!"

The demon was still out there. Even if he wasn't sure _what_ was behind the circumstances that had led to his being healed—a higher power, or nothing more than coincidence and a redemptive ghost—that much he knew. The demon was still out there, and he and Dean had to find it.

As Sam watched Jessica Madison disappear into the crowd, he promised himself that they would find it. They would keep this craphole of a world as safe they could—for people like her.


	24. Chapter 24

Okay, so it's a little short--more of a tag than another chapter, but it is what it is. I'm so sad to see this story finished! I'm ecstatic, and also sad. Sigh. Oh well. I'm so glad you all enjoyed it, and please do tell me what you think of this final chapter. Thanks so much to all of you for reading!

I'll post the last chapter of Flashbacks tomorrow before I leave for my church retreat this weekend, and when I get back I'll work on finishing Time's lessons, and then I'll start my GG fic!

I don't know if I mentioned it, but I made a video for this fic! Search Don't Let Go on youtube, and throw supernatural or christiangatefan1 (my youtube name) in the search line, and you should find it. It's with the Flyleaf song "Sorrow" and I hope ya'll like it! Don't forget to leave a comment there so I know if ya'll like it and if there's any point in my making any more SPN videos or fic vids in the future, lol. Thanks again so much, all of you!

Chapter 24

Ohio looked the same. A little warmer than last time, but essentially the same—except for the hordes of people swarming Cedarville University for its 2007 commencement ceremony.

"Dude..." Dean whistled. He pulled into the last parking space at the back of the parking lot at the gas station across the street. "Looks like a friggin' zoo over there."

Sam checked his watch yet again. "And we'll be late for the main attraction if we don't get over there," he said, quickly climbing out of the Impala. It must have been a little too quickly, because he hissed and leaned on the car.

"Sam?" Dean asked sharply.

He let out a breath and pulled up his left leg to massage his calf for a moment. "It's nothing, Dean."

"That leg still bothering you?" he asked warily, getting out himself and coming around to his brother.

"Just sometimes; it's fine." He set the leg back on the ground and _seemed_ fine.

Because he was fine. Sam was fine.

Dean looked at his brother for a moment, and finally sighed and glanced back out at the school across the road. "How the hell are we gonna find her in _that_?"

"We'll find her, but we don't have to worry about that until after the ceremony. First we have to _get_ there; come on."

"Hey, who's the oldest here?" he smirked, falling in beside his brother as they headed for the university. They managed to make it across the rural highway that was actually busy for once, and followed what of the crowd was still outdoors toward the building at the center of campus that apparently had the largest auditorium.

Normally, walking through a crowd with his ridiculously tall brother would have carried the same slightly annoying note it always had, but today Dean didn't mind at all. It felt good to have Sam beside him again, healthy and walking tall.

He was beginning to accept that it was all real.

"Damn."

Dean blinked out of his reverie. "What?"

Sam was looking toward the door. "I was afraid of that. They're taking tickets."

"Tickets? To a graduation?"

"It's pretty common, actually—at high schools _and_ colleges. I guess it's a space issue." He looked around quickly. "Come on."

"What, you wanna sneak in?"

"We have to get in somehow."

Dean followed Sam as he ducked out of view of the main doors and went around the building, but he wasn't so sure about this. "Breaking in, sneaking in, blending in—all things that aren't so hard for us; but if it's a space issue, how is getting in there gonna change anything?"

Sam shrugged. "We'll stand up."

"Oh yeah, and _that_ won't look suspicious at _all_." His brother shot him a look and he shrugged. "What?"

"Look, we've never been _in_ this building, so no, I don't know how this is going to work. But we have to try."

"_You_ have to try."

Another look. "You're the one who insisted on coming with me."

"Well, you know; Abby's a nice chick...I might as well come with to see her graduate and all..."

Sam rolled his eyes as they came to an unmonitored side door. "You just didn't want me out of your sight. I was surprised when you didn't come over to the church with me a few days ago."

"I _really_ did not want to do that whole church thing again if there was no food..."

"You're changing the subject."

Of course he was—because Sam was right. He still want his brother away from him. As grateful as he was that Sam was all right, church just wasn't his thing. But he'd regretted not going simply because it had been painful to not have Sam nearby.

"Whatever."

Sam huffed and turned his attention to the door. He tried it, but it was locked. There didn't appear to be an alarm, but it was locked. Not that that would stop them.

"You do realize this is insane, right?" Dean whispered once they were in. It was a back hallway, undistinguished and unoccupied. It looked like smaller, extra classrooms. "Committing a felony in the interest of ganking a ghost makes sense; the fact that we have to do it to get into a completely normal function is just crazy."

"That did cross my mind," Sam answered dryly.

Dean shrugged. "Just saying. One day we have seriously got to take a step back and ask ourselves when crazy is _too_ crazy," he muttered.

Luckily, the auditorium was an unconventional design, with wings and plenty of dark entrances that lent themselves well to staying hidden in the shadows while still giving a halfway-decent view of the stage. The brother were able to slip in one of the back doors unobserved, and stay there.

"Great. Now we just have to stand for two hours," Dean grumbled.

"There's a floor there."

"Nah; that's just tacky." With that he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.

The ceremony had already begun, and Sam smirked and turned his attention back to the front of the auditorium to watch.

Dean just smiled at his brother's back, glad to have him there.

* * *

After two years away from school, it was harder than Sam had thought it would be to watch the graduation ceremony. Though he supposed the dream would always be in the back of his mind, he thought he'd moved on.

Maybe he wasn't quite there yet.

Still, it was easy to grin when Abby walked across the stage. He'd called her as soon as he'd had a free moment back at the motel in\Taylorsville, and she knew he was all right. He hadn't really been able to explain quite how, but she knew he was alive—and that he was going to stay that way.

She looked happy. Young, and happy, and capable—she would have everything he'd only gotten a glimpse of having. Sam envied her, in some ways, but he didn't begrudge her for it. All he could want would be for her to be happy.

He and Dean slipped out just before everything was over, and Dean headed back for the car while Sam waited near the sidewalk outside of Abby's dorm. He assumed she would have to come back at some point. If it wasn't soon he could always try a little later. She would have to move everything out of her dorm room eventually.

But he didn't have to wait long. Soon she was coming up the sidewalk by the road, already changed out of her robe and weaving in an out between the crowds that still littered the campus. There were enough people that she wasn't really looking at any of them, but for those that called out goodbyes. She'd been waving to someone in the parking lot across the street and was past him and hadn't noticed a thing before he smirked and called after her.

"What, you're just gonna walk right past me?"

He hadn't called her name, but Abby stopped at the voice and twisted. "Sam?"

"Hey..."

"Sam!" She ran back to him, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him for a short moment before pulling back halfway and wincing a little in embarrasment.

"I did it again."

"It's okay," Sam grinned. He pulled her closer, arms around her.

"What are you doing here?" she protested, hands against his chest but not pushing. "You called, and I got that you're okay, but I don't know how, and you never said you were coming_ here..._What happened? You're really all right? Why didn't you tell me you were coming! I—"

"I wanted this part to be surprise."

She crossed her arms. "Congratulations; you succeeded there." He kissed her again, and whatever annoyance she still held melted away. "What _are_ you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you graduate."

"You were there?"

"I was there," he assured her. He reluctantly let go of her and looked back down the sidewalk in the direction she'd come. "So what are you...?"

"I uh...came back to put the finishing touches on the packing. My parents are down in the lot on the other side trying to get the van over here; goodness knows how long that'll take."

Sam sighed. "But they will get here eventually."

"I don't think you should have to hide from my parents..."

He winced. "I'm not sure how you'd explain me' you can't exactly tell them about the shapeshifter."

"Well, no..." She trailed off and looked at him for a long moment. "You can't stay, can you?" she asked quietly.

"You're not staying either. You're going home. You'll get a real job, get back in touch with old high school friends, keep in touch with the college friends, and make new ones...you'll have a life." He pushed her hair back from her face. "It'll be a good one. Maybe one of those new friends'll be the one you spend the rest of it with."

Abby tightened her crossed arms and looked away, biting her lip. "So you only came to say goodbye again?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. It might not be goodbye. This time we know I'll still be around, anyway. We might run into each other." She still looked a little upset, and he frowned. "I'm sorry...should I not have come...?"

"No," she said quickly, arms falling to her sides again. "I'm glad you're here; I _wanted_ to see you again. When I thought you were going to—" She stopped and grimaced. "I mean, I'm...I'm glad you're all right. I'm glad I got to see that you're all right."

"Yeah...I'm fine."

"Good," she nodded, forcing a smile. After a moment it became a little more natural. "It was some kind of miracle, wasn't it? Somehow I just know it. I think I felt it...before you called. Somehow I knew you were all right."

Sam just stared at her at first. "I'm not sure...I guess it was. It had a lot more to do with a ghost, but I guess you could see it that way."

"Ghost?"He opened his mouth to answer, but she cut him off. "Never mind. I don't want to know."

He grinned. "No, you don't."

"You're going to be fine, and that's all that matters," she sighed. Her cell phone buzzed in the pocket of the light sweater she wore over her dress, and she tugged it out and frowned at the display. "My parents are really getting into this whole texting thing; it's weird," she said, tapping the button to read the message. She pulled a face at it.

"What's wrong?"

"They finally got out of the lot down there; there on their way over here." She shoved the device away and gave him a helpless look. "Are you sure you want to avoid my parents? Aren't you supposed to be good at making up cover stories for anything? Do that. We have a hotel room, and we're not leaving until in the morning since we have such a long way to go. You could stay until then..."

Sam let out a breath. "You know I shouldn't." He looked at her, and finally she swallowed and looked away again.

"No...you probably shouldn't. I suppose you're going to remind that your job is out there?" She made a general sweeping motion.

"I don't know how long it'll be that way, but for now it is."

Abby nodded quickly. "I know, I know. Just..." She took a minute. "Keep that promise to keep in touch when you can, okay?"

"I'll do my best."

She smiled again. "And look me up whenever your job description changes."

He smiled briefly in affirmative, and they both fell silent. Then Sam leaned in to gently kiss her once more, and pulled her into a long embrace.

"Knock 'em dead."

"Hey, you're the one that kills stuff," Abby smirked against his shoulder.

It was hard to walk away, but it was easier when he turned once he was down the hill, and saw her parents approach and hug her again in congratulations. She had a family, and friends, and a career to start. She would be fine.

Whether he would be was a different story entirely.

Dean was waiting in the Impala when Sam climbed in. He didn't say anything as he cranked the car and pulled out onto the highway. He seemed to know that his little brother just wanted to be alone in his thoughts for a little while.

It lasted all of half an hour, but Sam hadn't been expecting what Dean said when he finally spoke.

"I would have come back, you know."

Sam blinked out of his stupor and looked over at his brother. "What?"

Dean cleared his throat a little, still staring out at the road. "What I said the other night a couple months ago...about the whole thing with the djinn. You know I was just pissed off, right?"

"I guess...why?" he frowned.

He shrugged. "I just, you know...wanted to make sure you knew I didn't mean it. I uh, still would've come back—even if I'd known all this crap was gonna happen, I mean."

"Well everything turned out okay, I guess."

Dean shook his head and really looked at Sam now. "No, I mean...even if it hadn't, and I'd _known _it wouldn't, or whatever...I still would've come back."

_I would've come back for you—to be here for you—even if you hadn't made it. I wouldn't have left you. _It wasn't what he said out loud, but it was what he meant.

Sam stared at his brother, and a slow smile crept across his face. "I know."

He was going to be fine.


End file.
